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THE   IVORY   GATE 


H  IRovel 


BY 


WALTEE    BESANT 

AUTUOR    OF    "  ALL    SORTS    AND    CONDITIONS    OF    MEN  ' 
"children    of    GIDEON"    ETC. 


NEW   YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1892 


Copyright,  1892,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


"B  55 'JIG 


CONTENTS 


OIIAPTEB  PAOn 

PROLOGUE:  Wno  is  Edmcnd  Gray? 1 

I.  Up  the  River 28 

II.  In  the  Office 37 

III.  The  Select  Circle 46 

IV.  A  REBELLiors  Child 55 

V.  Something  Happens G5 

VI.  Something  more  Happens 73 

VII.  Something  else  Happens 82 

VIII.  In  Honor  of  the  Event 92 

IX.  At  the  Gates  of  Paradise 101 

X.  A  Mysterious  Discovery 109 

XI.  A  Mysteriocs  Discovery — (Continued) 117 

XII.  A  Mysterious  Discovery — {Conclnded) 124 

XIII.  The  First  Find 133 

XrV.  Things  more  Remarkable 142 

XV.  Checkley's  Case 151 

XVI.  Who  is  Edmcnd  Gray? 101 

XVII.  The  Voice  of  Dcty 171 

XVIII.  Was  he  in  Rags? 180 

XIX.  The  Prodigal  at  Home 188 

XX.  The  Whisper  of  Calumny 195 

XXI.   He  Comes  from  Edmund  Gray 204 

XXII.  "I  AM  Edmund  Gray" 212 

XXIII.  Master  and  Disciple 222 

XXIV.  The  Hall  ok  the  New  Faith 230 


4fi8089 


IV  CONTENTS 

cnAPTEE  PAGE 

XXV.  Can  he  Remember? 239 

XXVI.  Will  he  Remember? 247 

XXVII.  The  Lesson  of  the  Street 255 

XXVIII.  The  Lesson  of  the  Street  {Continued) 264 

XXIX.  "I  Know  the  Man*' 272 

XXX.  Athelstan's  Discovery 280 

XXXI.  Checkley  sees  a  Ghost 288 

XXXII.  The  Day  after  the  Ghost 29G 

XXXIIL  The  Three  Accomplices 305 

XXXIV.  Elsie  and  her  Mother 315 

XXXV.  Plenary  Confession 320 

XXXVI.  Plenary  Confession  (^Continued) 330 

XXXVIL  Le  Conseil  de  Famille 339 

XXXVIII.  Le  Conseil  de  Famille  {Continued) 348 

XXXIX.  The  Last    .     . 356 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


PROLOGUE 

WHO    IS    EDMUND    GRAY? 

Mr.  Edward  Dering,  in  a  rare  interval  of  worlc,  occupied  him- 
self with  looking;  into  his  bank-book.  Those  humble  persons 
whom  the  City,  estimating  the  moral  and  spiritual  worth  of  a 
man  by  his  income,  calls  "  small "  frequently  and  anxiously  ex- 
amine their  bank-books,  add  up  the  tiolumns,  and  check  the  en- 
tries. Mr.  Dering,  who  was  not  a  small  man,  but  a  big  man,  or 
rather,  from  the  City  point  of  view,  a  biggish  man,  very  seldom 
looked  at  his  bank-book — first,  because,  like  other  solicitors  in 
large  practice,  he  had  clerks  and  accountants  to  do  that  kind  of 
work  for  him  ;  next,  because,  like  many  solicitors,  while  he  man- 
aged the  affairs  of  other  people  with  unceasing  watchfulness,  he 
was  apt  to  neglect  his  own  affairs.  Happily,  when  one  has  an 
income  of  some  thousands,  private  affairs  from  time  to  time  force 
themselves  upon  their  owner  in  the  most  agreeable  manner  pos- 
sible. They  obtrude  themselves  upon  him.  They  insist  upon 
being  noticed.  They  compel  him  to  look  after  them  respectfully: 
to  remove  them  from  the  dulness  of^the  bank,  and  to  make  them 
comfortable  in  investments. 

Mr.  Dering  opened  the  book,  ther-efore,  having  for  the  moment 
nothing  else  to  do,  looked  at  the  balance,  was  satisfied  with  its 
appearance,  and  began  working  backwards,  that  is  to  say  up- 
wards, to  read  the  entries.  Presently  he  came  to  one  at  which 
be  stopped,  holding  his  forefinger  on  the  name. 

'  468(189 


2  THE    IVORY    GATE 

It  was  on  the  right-hand  side,  the  side  which  to  small  men  is 
so  terrifying,  because  it  always  does  its  best  to  annihilate  the  cash 
balance,  and  seems  bent  upon  transforming  addition  into  multi- 
plication, so  amazing  are  the  results.  The  name  which  Mr.  Ber- 
ing read  was  Edmund  Gray.  The  amount  placed  in  the  same 
line  opposite  to  that  name  was  £720.  Therefore,  he  had  drawn 
a  check  to  the  order  of  Edmund  Gray  for  the  sura  of  £720. 

Now,  a  man  may  be  in  very  great  practice  indeed  ;  but  if,  like. 
Mr.  Deriif^,  he  knows  the  details  of  every  case  that  is  brought 
into  the  house  he  would  certainly  remember  drawing  a  check  for 
£720,  and  the  reason  why  it  was  drawn,  and  the  person  for  whom 
it  was  drawn,  especially  if  the  check  was  only  three  weeks  old. 
Seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds!  It  is  a  sum  in  return  for 
which  many  and  very  substantial  services  must  be  rendered. 

"Edmund  Gray!"  he  murmured.  "Strange!  I  cannot  re- 
member the  name  of  Edmund  Gray.  Who  is  Edmund  Gray? 
Why  did  I  give  him  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds?" 

The  strange  fact  that  he  should  forget  so  large  a  sum  amused 
liim  at  first.  Beside  him  lay  a  book  which  was  his  private  diary. 
lie  opened  it,  and  looked  back  for  three  months,  lie  could  find 
no  mention  anywhere  of  Edmund  Gray.  To  repeat:  he  knew  all 
the  details  of  every  case  that  came  into  the  house ;  he  signed  all 
the  checks;  his  memory  was  as  tenacious  and  as  searching  as  the 
east  wind  in  April ;  yet  this  matter  of  Edmund  Gray  and  his 
check  for  £720  he  could  not  recall  to  his  mind  by  any  effort. 

There  is  a  certain  stage  in  brain  fatigue  when  one  cannot  re- 
member names;  it  is  the  sure  and  certain  symptom  of  overwork; 
the  wise  man  recognizes  the  symptom  as  a  merciful  warning,  and 
obeys  it.  Mr.  Bering  knew  this  symptom.  "  I  must  take  a  holi- 
day," he  said.  "  At  sixty-seven  one  cannot  afford  to  neglect  the 
least  loss  of  memory.  Edmund  Gray  !  To  forget  Edmund  Gray 
— and  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds!  I  must  run  down  to 
the  sea-side  for  a  fortnight's  rest." 

He  shut  up  the  bank-book,  and  tried  to  go  back  to  his  work. 
But  this  name  came  back  to  him.  "Edmund  Gray,"  he  mur- 
mured— "Edmund  Gray.  Who  on  earth  is  this  Edmund  Gray? 
Why  did  he  get  a  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds?" 

The  thing  ceased  to  amuse  him  ;  it  began  to  irritate  him  ;  in 
two  minutes  it  began  to  torture  him  ;  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair; 
he  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  table;  he  took  up  the  book 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


and  looked  at  the  entry  again.  lie  got  up  and  walked  about  the 
room — a  long  lean  figure  in  a  tight  frock-coat.  To  walk  about 
the  room  and  to  swing  your  arms  often  stimulates  the  memory. 
In  this  case,  however,  no  good  effect  followed.  The  nomme  Ed- 
mund Gray  remained  a  name  and  nothing  more — the  shadow  of 
a  name.  Mr.  Bering  rapped  the  table  with  his  paper-knife,  as  if 
to  conjure  up  that  shadow.  Futile  superstition  !  No  shadow 
appeared.  But  how  could  the  shadow  of  a  name— an  unknown 
name— carry  off  seven  hundred  and  twenty  golden  sovereigns? 

"I  feel  as  if  I  am  going  mad,"  he  murmured.  "Seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty  pounds  paid  by  myself  in  a  single  lump,  only 
three  weeks  ago,  and  I  remember  nothing  about  it!  I  have  no 
client  named  Edmund  Gray.  The  money  must  therefore  have 
been  paid  by  me  for  some  client  to  this  unknown  person.  Yet 
it  was  paid  by  my  check,  and  I  don't  remember  it.  Strange !  I 
never  forgot  such  a  thing  before." 

There  was  an  office-bell  on  the  table.     lie  touched  it.     A  clerk 
— an  elderly  clerk,  an  ancient  clerk — obeyed  the  call.     He  was 
the  clerk  who  sat  in  the  room  outside  Mr.  Bering's  office;  the 
clerk  who  wrote  the  checks  for  the  chief  to  sign,  brought  back 
the  letters  when  they  had  been  copied,  directed  the  letters  for  the 
post,  received  visitors,  and  passed  in  cards ;  in  fact,  the  private 
secretary,  stage-manager — we  all  want  a  stage-manager  in  every 
profession — or  confidential  clerk.     As  befits  a  man  of  responsi- 
bility he  was  dressed  all  in  black,  his  office-coat  being  as  shiny 
as  a  mirror  on  the  arms  and  on  the  shoulders ;  by  long  habit  it 
hung  in  certain  folds  or  curves  which  never  unbent ;  his  face  was 
quite  shaven  and  shorn  ;  all  that  was  left  of  his  white  hair  was 
cut  short ;  his  eyes  were  keen  and  even  foxy  ;  his  lips  were  thin  ; 
liis  general  expression  was  one  of  watchfulness:  when  he  watched 
his  master  it  was  with  the  attention  of  a  servant;  when  he  watched 
anybody  else  it  was  as  one  who  watches  a  rogue,  and  would  out- 
wit him,  if  he  could,  at  his  own  roguery.     In  certain  commercial 
walks  of  the  lower  kind  where  honor  and  morality  consist  in  the 
success  of  attempts  to  cheat  each  other,  this  kind  of  expression 
is  not  uncommon.     Whether  his  expression  was  good  or  bad, 
he  was  an  excellent  clerk :  he  was  always  at  his  post  at  nine  in 
the  morning;  he  never  left  the  ofl3ce  before  seven,  and,  because 
Mr.  Dcrino-  was  a  whale  for  work,  he  sometimes  stayed  without 
a  grumble  until  eight  or  even  nine.     Man  and  boy,  Chcckley  had 


4  THE    IVORY    GATE 

been  in  the  office  of  Daring  &  Son  for  fifty-five  years,  entering 
as  an  errand  boy  at  twelve. 

"  Checkley,"  said  liis  master,  "  look  at  this  bank-book.  Credit 
side.     Fourth  entry.     Have  you  got  it  ?" 

"  Edmund  Gray — seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,"  the  clerk 
read. 

"  Yes,     AVhat  is  that  check  for  ?     Who  is  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

The  clerk  looked  surprised.     "I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  Why  did  I  pay  that  money  ?" 

The  clerk  shook  his  head. 

"Did  you  look  at  the  book  when  you  laid  it  on  the  table?" 

The  clerk  nodded. 

"  Well— what  did  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  I  didn't  think  of  it  at  all.  It  wasn't  one  of  the  checks  you 
told  me  to  draw  about  that  time  ago.  If  I  had  thought  I  should 
have  supposed  it  was  your  private  business." 

"  I  was  not  aware,  Checkley,  that  I  have  any  private  affairs 
that  you  do  not  know." 

"  Well — but  you  miglit  have." 

"True.  I  might  have.  Just  so.  As  I  haven't,  who — I  ask 
you  again — who  is  this  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  any  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"  Never  to  my  knowledge." 

"  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  heard  that  name  ?"  the  lawyer 
persisted. 

"  The  very  first  time." 

"Consider.  Is  there  any  Edmund  Gray  in  connection  with 
any  of  my  clients  ?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge." 

"Not  to  your  knowledge.  Has  any  Edmund  Gray  ever  been 
employed  about  the  office  f 

"  No — certainly  not." 

"  We  have  recently  been  painted  and  papered  and  whitewashed 
and  new-carpeted,  at  great  expense  and  inconvenience.  Did  Ed- 
mund Gray  conduct  any  of  those  operations?" 

"  No." 

"  Has  the  name  of  Edmund  Gray  ever  been  mentioned  in  any 
letters  that  have  come  here?" 

It  was  notorious  in  the  office  that  Checkley  read  all  the  letters 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


that  came,  and  that  he  never  forgot  the  contents  of  any.  If  you 
named  any  letter  he  would  at  once  tell  you  what  was  written  in 
it,  even  if  it  were  twenty  years  old. 

*'  I  have  never  even  heard  the  name  of  Edmund  Gray,  in  any 
letter  or  in  any  connection  whatever,"  the  clerk  replied,  tirmly. 

"  I  put  all  these  questions,  Checkley,  because  I  was  pretty  cer- 
tain myself  from  the  beginning;  but  I  wanted  to  make  myself 
quite  certain.  I  thought  it  might  be  a  trick  of  failing  memory. 
Now,  look  at  the  name  carefully."  The  clerk  screwed  up  his 
eyes  tightly  in  order  to  get  a  good  grip  of  the  name.  "  You  see 
I  have  given  him  a  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds, 
only  three  weeks  ago.  I  am  not  the  kind  of  man  to  give  away 
seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  for  nothing.  Yet  I  have  actu- 
ally forgotten  the  whole  business." 

Certainly  he  did  not  look  the  kind  of  man  to  forget  such  a 
simple  thing  as  the  giving -away  of  £720.  Quite  the  con- 
trary. His  grave  face,  his  iron-gray  hair,  his  firm  lips,  his  keen, 
steady  eyes,  apart  from  the  methodical  regularity  with  which 
his  papers  were  arranged  before  him,  all  proclaimed  that  he  was 
very  far  from  being  that  kind  of  man.  Very  much  the  reverse, 
indeed. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,  sir,"  Checkley  began,  with  a 
change  in  his  face  from  watchfulness  to  terror — "you  can't 
mean — " 

"I  mean  this,  Checkley.  I  know  of  no  Edmund  Gray,  and 
unless  the  bank  has  made  a  mistake  there  has  been  committed  a 
— what  do  they  call  it  in  the  law-courts?" 

The  clerk  held  the  bank-book  in  his  hand,  staring  at  his  master 
with  open  eyes.  "  What?"  he  repeated.  "  What  do  they  call  it? 
Good  Lord  !  They  call  it  forgery — and  for  seven  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds !  And  on  yon,  of  all  people  in  the  world  !  And 
in  this  office !  In  our  office ! — our  office !  What  a  dreadful 
thing,  to  be  sure !  Oh !  what  a  dreadful  thing  to  happen  !  In 
our  office — here!"  The  clerk  seemed  unable  to  express  his 
astonishment. 

"  First  of  all,  get  me  the  cancelled  checks." 

The  checks  always  came  back  in  the  pocket  of  the  bank-book. 
Checkley  was  accustomed  to  take  them  out,  and  to  file  them  in 
their  proper  place. 

Again,  Mr.  Dering  neither  drew  his  checks  nor  wrote  his  letters 


6  THE    IVORY    GATE 

■with  his  own  liand.  He  only  signed  them.  One  clerk  wrote 
the  letters,  another  drew  the  checks  by  his  instruction  and  dic- 
tation. 

Checkley  went  back  to  his  own  room,  and  returned  with  a 
bundle  of  cancelled  drafts.  lie  then  looked  in  the  safe — a  great 
fireproof  safe — that  stood  open  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and 
took  out  the  current  check-book. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said.  "  Check  drawn  by  you  yourself,  in  your 
own  handwriting  and  properly  signed  —  payable  to  order,  not 
crossed,  and  duly  endorsed.  Now  you  understand  why  I  know 
nothing  about  it.  Edmund  Gray,  Esquire,  or  order.  Seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty  pounds.  Signed  Dering  &  Son.  Your  own 
handwriting  and  your  own  signature." 

"Let  tnc  look."  Mr.  Dering  took  the  paper  and  examined  it. 
His  eyes  hardened  as  he  looked.  "You  call  this  my  handwriting, 
Checkley?" 

"I — I — I  did  think  it  was,"  the  clerk  stammered.  "Let  me 
look  again.     And  1  think  so  still,"  he  added,  more  firmly. 

"Then  you're  a  fool.  Look  again.  Wlien  did  I  ever  sign 
like  that?" 

Mr.  Dering's  handwriting  was  one  of  those  which  are  impos- 
sible to  be  read  by  any  except  his  own  clerks,  and  then  only 
when  they  know  what  to  expect.  Thus,  when  he  drew  up  in- 
structions in  lawyer  language,  he  expressed  the  important  words 
by  an  initial,  a  medial,  or  a  final  consonant,  and  made  scratches  for 
all  the  words  between.  His  clerks,  however,  understood  him  very 
well.  If  he  had  written  a  love-letter  or  a  farce,  or  a  ballade  or  a 
story,  no  one — neither  clerks  nor  friends  nor  compositors — would 
have  understood  anything  but  a  word  here  and  a  word  there. 
For  his  signature,  however,  that  was  different.  It  was  the  sio-na- 
ture  of  the  firm  ;  it  was  a  signature  a  hundred  and  twenty  years 
old ;  it  was  an  eighteenth-century  signature :  bold,  large,  and 
clear,  every  letter  fully  formed;  with  dots  and  flourishes,  the  last 
letter  concluding  with  a  fantasia  of  penmanship  belonging  to  a 
time  when  men  knew  how  to  wiite,  belonging  to  the  decorative 
time  of  penmanship. 

"Two  of  the  dots  are  out  of  place,"  said  Checkley,  "and  the 
flourish  isn't  quite  what  it  should  be.  But  the  check  itself  looks 
like  your  hand,"  he  added,  stoutly.  "  I  ought  to  have  seen  that 
there  was  something  wrong  about  the  signature,  though  it  isn't 


THE    IVORY    GATE  7 

much.    I  own  to  tliat.    But  the  writing  is  like  yours,  and  I  would 
swear  to  it  still." 

"  It  isn't  my  handwriting  at  all,  then.  Where  is  the  counter- 
foil ?" 

Checkley  turned  over  the  counterfoils.  "  What  is  the  date  ?" 
he  asked.  "  March  the  4th  ?  I  can't  find  it.  Here  are  checks 
for  the  3d  and  for  the  6th,  but  none  at  all  for  the  4th." 

"  Let  me  look."  Strange !  There  was  no  counterfoil.  And 
the  numbers  did  not  agree  with  that  on  the  check. 

"  You  haven't  got  another  check-book,  have  yon  ?" 

"No;  I  certainly  have  not." 

Mr.  Bering  sat  with  the  check  in  his  hand,  looking  at  it.  Then 
he  compared  it  with  a  blank  check.  "Why,"  he  said,  "this 
check  is  drawn  from  an  old  book — two  years  old — one  of  the 
books  before  the  bank  amalgamated  and  changed  its  title  and  the 
form  of  the  checks — not  much  of  a  change,  it  is  true — but — how 
could  we  be  such  fools,  Checkley,  as  not  to  see  the  difference?" 

"Then  somebody  or  other  must  have  got  hold  of  an  old  check- 
book. Shameful!  To  have  check-books  lying  about  for  every 
common  rogue  to  go  and  steal !" 

Mr.  Dering  reflected.  Then  he  looked  up,  and  said:  "Look 
again  in  the  safe.  Li  the  left-hand  compartment  over  the  drawer 
I  think  you  will  find  an  old  check-book.  It  belonged  to  a  sepa- 
rate account — a  trust.  That  has  been  closed.  The  book  should 
be  there.  Ah !  There  it  is.  I  wonder  now,"  the  lawyer  went 
on,  "how  I  came  to  remember  that  book?  It  is  more  than  two 
years  since  I  last  used  it  or  even  thought  of  it.  Another  trick 
of  memory.  We  forget  nothing,  in  fact,  nothing  at  all.  Give  it 
to  me.  Strange,  that  I  should  remember  so  slight  a  thing.  Now 
— here  are  the  checks,  you  see — color  the  same — lettering  the 
same — size  the  same — the  only  difference  being  the  style  and 
title  of  the  company.  The  fellow  must  have  got  hold  of  an  old 
book  left  about,  as  you  say,  carelessly.  Ah  !" — his  color  chano-ed 
— "  here's  the  very  counterfoil  we  wanted  !  Look  !  the  number 
corresponds.  The  check  was  actually  taken  from  this  very  book ! 
a  book  in  my  own  safe  !  in  this  very  office  !  Checkley,  what  does 
this  mean  ?" 

Checkley  took  the  book  from  his  master  with  a  trcmblino- 
hand,  and  read  feebly  the  writing  of  the  counterfoil,  "March  4th, 
1883.     Edmund  Gray,  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds." 


8  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"Lord  knows  what  it  means,"  ho  said.  "I  never  came  across 
such  a  thing  in  my  life  before." 

"Most  extraordinary!  It  is  two  years  since  I  have  given  a 
thought  to  the  existence  of  that  book.  Yet  I  remembered  it  the 
moment  when  it  became  useful.  Well,  Checkley,  what  have  you 
got  to  say  ?     Can't  you  speak  ?" 

"Nothing — nothing.  O  Lord,  what  should  I  have  to  say?  If 
you  didn't  draw  that  check  with  your  own  hand — " 

"I  did  not  draw  that  check  with  ray  own  hand." 

"  Then — then  it  must  have  been  drawn  by  somebody  else's 
band." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Perhaps  you  dictated  it." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Checkley.  Keep  your  wits  together,  though 
this  is  a  new  kind  of  case  for  you.  Criminal  law  is  not  exactly 
in  your  line.  Do  you  think  I  should  dictate  my  own  handwriting 
as  well  as  my  own  words?" 

"  No.  But  I  could  swear — I  could  indeed — that  it  is  your 
writing." 

"  Let  us  have  no  more  questions  and  answers.  It  is  a  forgery. 
It  is  a  forgery.  It  is  not  a  common  forgery.  It  has  been  com- 
mitted in  my  own  ofiice.  Who  can  have  done  it?  Let  me 
think."  He  placed  the  check  and  the  old  check-book  before 
him,  "  This  book  has  been  in  my  safe  for  two  years.  I  had 
forgotten  its  very  existence.  The  safe  is  only  used  for  my  private 
papers.  I  open  it  every  morning  myself  at  ten  o'clock.  I  shut 
it  when  I  go  upstairs  to  lunch.  I  open  it  again  when  I  return. 
I  close  it  when  I  go  away.  I  have  not  departed  from  that  custom 
for  thirty  years.  I  could  no  more  sit  in  this  room  with  the  safe 
shut — I  could  no  more  go  away  with  the  safe  open — than  I  could 
walk  the  streets  in  my  shirt-sleeves.  Therefore,  not  only  has  the 
forgery  been  committed  by  some  one  who  has  had  access  to  my 
safe,  but  by  some  one  who  has  stolen  the  check  in  my  very  pres- 
ence and  before  my  eyes.  This  consideration  should  narrow  the 
field."  He  looked  at  the  check  again.  "  It  is  dated  March  the 
4th.  The  date  may  mean  nothing.  But  it  was  presented  on  the 
5th.  Who  came  to  my  room  on  the  4th  or  the  days  preceding? 
Go  and  find  out." 

Checkley  retired,  and  brought  back  his  journal. 

"You  saw  on  the  4th — "     He  read  the  list  of  callers. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  9 

"  That  doesn't  help,"  said  Mr.  Bering. 

"On  the  1st,  2d,  3d,  and  4th  you  had  Mr.  Arundel  working 
witli  you  here  every  day  from  ten  till  twelve." 

"  Mr.  Arundel  ?     Yes,  I  remember.     Anybody  else  ?" 

"  Nobody  else." 

"You  forget  yourself,  Checkley,"  Mr,  Bering  said.  "You 
were,  as  usual,  in  and  out  at  different  times." 

"O  Lord!  sir  —  I  hope  you  don't  think  — "  the  old  clerk 
stammered,  turning  pale. 

"  I  think  nothing,  I  want  to  find  out.  Go  to  the  bank.  See 
the  manager.  Let  him  tell  you  if  he  can  find  out  by  whom  the 
check  was  cashed.  If  in  notes — it  must  have  been  in  notes — let 
those  notes  be  instantly  stopped.  It  is  not  crossed,  so  that  we 
must  not  expect  anything  so  simple  as  the  Clearing  House.  Go 
at  once,  and  find  out  exactly  what  happened." 

This  happened  at  about  half-past  ten.  The  bank  was  no  more 
than  five-minutes'  walk.  Yet  it  was  twelve  o'clock  when  the 
clerk  returned. 

"Well,  what  have  you  found  out?"  asked  the  master. 

"  I  have  found  out  a  great  deal,"  Checkley  began,  eagerly. 
"  First,  I  saw  the  manager,  and  I  saw  the  pay-clerk.  The  check 
was  handed  in  by  a  commissionaire.  Everybody  trusts  a  com- 
missionaire. The  pay-clerk  knows  your  signature,  and  thought 
it  was  all  right.  I  showed  the  check  to  the  manager.  He  knows 
your  handwriting,  and  he  says  he  would  swear  that  the  check  was 
drawn  bv  you  yourself.     So  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  you  think," 

"Goon." 

"The  commissionaire  told  the  pay-clerk  that  he  was  ordered 
to  take  it  all  in  ten-pound  notes.  He  took  them,  put  them  in  his 
pouch,  and  walked  away.  He  was  a  one-armed  man,  and  took  a 
long  time  over  the  job,  and  didn't  seem  a  bit  in  a  hurry," 

"About  the  notes?" 

"The  manager  will  stop  them  at  once.  But  he  says  that  if 
the  thing  was  done  by  an  old  hand  there  must  be  confederates 
in  it,  and  there  will  be  trouble.  However,  the  notes  are  stopped. 
That's  done.  Then  I  went  on  to  the  commissionaires'  barracks 
in  the  Strand.  The  sergeant  very  soon  found  the  man,  and  I  had 
a  talk  with  him.  He  was  employed  by  an  old  gentleman,  he 
says,  staying  at  the  Cecil  Hotel,  Strand.  The  old  gentleman  sent 
him  to  the  bank  with  instructions  to  get  the  money  in  ten-pound 
1* 


10  THE   IVORY    GATE 

notes ;  and  very  particular  he  was  with  him  about  not  losing  any 
of  them  on  the  way.  He  didn't  seem  a  bit  in  a  liurry  either. 
Took  tlie  notes  from  the  man  and  laid  them  in  a  pocket-book. 
It  was  in  the  coffee-room,  and  half  a  dozen  other  gentlemen  were 
there  at  the  same  time.     But  this  gentleman  seemed  alone." 

"Humph!  A  pretty  cool  business,  upon  my  word!  No  hurry 
about  it.  Plenty  of  time.  That  was  because  they  knew  that  the 
old  check-book  would  not  be  found  and  examined." 

"Why  did  they  write  the  check  on  the  counterfoil?  Why  did 
they  put  the  check-book  back  again — after  they  had  taken  it  out?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  workings  of  a  forger's  brain  are  not 
within  the  compass  of  my  experiences.     Go  on,  Checkley  !" 

"The  commissionaire  says  that  he  is  certain  he  would  know 
the  gentleman  again." 

"  Very  good  indeed,  if  we  can  only  find  the  gentleman." 

"  I  then  went  on  to  tlie  Cecil  Hotel,  and  saw  the  head  waiter 
of  the  coffee-room.  He  remembered  the  commissionaire  being 
sent  for;  he  saw  the  bundle  of  bank-notes  brought  back  from  the 
bank,  and  he  remembers  the  old  gentleman  very  well.  Says  he 
should  certainly  know  him  again." 

"Did  he  describe  him?" 

"There  didn't  seem  anything  particular  to  describe.  He  was 
of  average  height,  so  to  speak,  dressed  in  gray  trousers  and  a 
black  frock-coat,  and  was  gray-haired.  Much  as  if  I  was  to 
describe  you." 

"Oh!  The  notes  arc  stopped.  Yet  in  three  weeks  there  has 
been  ample  time  to  get  them  all  changed.  Every  note  may  have 
been  changed  into  gold  in  three  weeks.  An  elderly  gentleman, 
gray  hair,  average  height;  that  tells  us  nothing.  Checkley,  the 
thing  has  been  done  by  some  one  who  had,  or  still  has,  access  to 
my  safe.  Perhaps,  in  some  way  or  other,  keys  have  been  pro- 
cured. In  that  case — "  He  stepped  over  to  the  safe,  and  opened 
a  drawer.  "See,  Checkley;  this  drawer  is  untouched — it  is  full 
of  jewelry  and  things  which  belonged  to  my  mother.  Nothing 
touched.  Here  is  a  bag  of  spade  guineas — again  nothing  taken. 
What  do  you  say  to  that?  If  the  forger  had  possessed  keys  he 
would,  first  of  all,  clear  out  the  things  which  he  could  turn  into 
money  without  any  difficulty  and  very  little  risk.  Nothing  taken 
except  that  check,  and  the  check-book  replaced.  What  do  you 
savtothat?     Eh?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  11 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say.  I'm  struck  stupid.  I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing  before." 

"Xor  I.  Why,  it  must  have  been  done  in  this  room,  wliile  the 
safe  was  open,  while  I  was  actually  present.  That  is  the  onlv 
solution  possible.     Again,  who  has  been  in  this  room  ?" 

"  All  the  callers — I  read  their  names  to  you — your  clients." 

"They  all  sit  in  that  chair.  They  never  leave  that  chair  so 
long  as  they  are  with  me."  He  indicated  the  chair  which  stood 
at  the  corner  of  the  lawyer's  great  table  at  his  left  hand.  Now 
the  safe  was  in  the  far  corner,  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
"They  could  not  possibly —  Checkley,  the  only  two  who  could 
possibly  have  access  to  that  safe  in  office-hours  are  yourself  and 
Mr.  Arundel." 

"Good  heavens!  sir — you  can't  believe — you  can't  actually 
think — " 

"I  believe  nothing.  I  told  you  so  before.  I  think  nothing. 
I  want  the  facts." 

The  room  was  long  rather  than  square,  lit  by  two  large  win- 
dows, overlooking  the  gardens  of  New  Square,  Lincoln's  Inn. 
The  lawyer  sat  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  protected  by  a  cane- 
screen,  before  a  large  table.  On  his  left  hand,  at  the  corner  of 
the  table,  stood  the  clients'  chair ;  on  his  right  hand,  between  the 
two  windows,  was  a  small  table  with  a  couple  of  drawers  in  it. 
And  in  the  corner,  to  the  left  of  any  one  writing  at  the  small 
table,  and  on  the  right  hand  of  the  lawyer,  was  the  open  safe 
already  mentioned.  There  were  two  doors,  one  communicating 
with  the  clerk's  room,  the  other  opening  directly  on  the  stairs. 
The  latter  was  locked  on  the  inside. 

"Call  Mr.  Arundel,"  said  the  chief. 

While  Checkley  was  gone  he  walked  to  the  window,  and  ob- 
served that  any  one  sitting  at  the  table  could,  by  merely  reaching 
out,  take  anything  from  the  safe  and  put  it  back  again  unob- 
served, if  he  himself  happened  to  be  occupied  or  looking  another 
way.  Ilis  grave  face  became  dark,  lie  returned  to  his  own  chair, 
and  sat  thinking,  while  his  face  grew  darker  and  his  eyes  harder, 
until  Mr.  Arundel  appeared. 

Alhelstan  Arundel  was  at  this  time  a  recently  admitted  mem- 
ber of  the  respectable  but  too-numerous  family  of  solicitors.  He 
was  between  two  and  three  and  twenty  years  of  age,  a  tall  and 
handsome  young  fellow,  of  a  good  manly  type.     He  was  an  ex- 


12  THE    IVORY    GATE 

articled  cleric  of  the  house,  and  had  just  been  appointed  a  manag- 
ing clerk  until  something  could  be  found  for  him.  The  Arun- 
dels  were  a  City  family  of  some  importance ;  perhaps  something 
in  a  City  firm  might  presently  be  achieved  by  the  united  influence 
of  family  and  money.  Meantime,  here  he  was,  at  work,  earning 
a  salary  and  gaining  experience.  Checkley,  for  his  part — who 
was  as  jealous  of  his  master  as  only  an  old  servant  or  a  young 
mistress  has  the  right  to  be — had  imagined  symptoms  or  indica- 
tions of  a  growing  preference  or  favor  towards  this  yonng  gentle- 
man on  the  part  of  Mr.  Dering.  Certainly,  he  had  Mr.  Arundel 
in  his  own  office  a  good  deal,  and  gave  him  work  of  a  most  confi- 
dential character.  Besides,  Mr.  Dering  was  executor  and  trustee 
for  young  Arundel's  mother,  and  he  had  been  an  old  friend  and 
school-fellow  of  his  father,  and  had  known  the  young  man  and 
his  two  sisters  from  infancy. 

"Mr.  Arundel,"  the  lawyer  began.  At  his  own  house  he  ad- 
dressed his  ward  by  his  Christian  name ;  in  the  office,  as  manag- 
ing clerk,  he  prefixed  the  courtesy  title.  "An  extremely  disa- 
greeable thing  has  happened  here — nothing  short  of  a  forgery. 
Don't  interrupt  me,  if  you  please" — for  the  young  man  looked  as  if 
he  was  about  to  practise  his  interjections — "  it  is  a  most  surprising 
thing,  I  admit.  You  needn't  say  so,  however — that  wastes  time. 
A  forgery.  On  the  5th  of  this  month,  three  weeks  ago,  a  check, 
apparently  in  my  handwriting,  and  with  my  signature  so  skilfully 
executed  as  to  deceive  even  Checkley  and  the  manager  of  the 
bank,  was  presented  at  my  bank  and  duly  cashed.  The  amount 
is  large — seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds — and  the  sum  was 
paid  across  the  counter  in  ten-pound  notes,  which  are  now 
stopped — if  there  are  any  left."  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
young  man,  whose  face  betrayed  no  other  emotion  than  that  of 
natural  surprise.  "  We  shall  doubtless  trace  these  notes,  and 
through  them,  of  course,  the  forger.  We  have  already  ascer- 
tained who  presented  the  clieck.      You  follow  ?" 

"  Certainly.  There  has  been  a  forgery.  The  forged  check  has 
been  cashed.  The  notes  are  stopped.  Have  you  any  clue  to  the 
forgery  ? — any  suspicions  ?" 

"  As  yet,  none.  We  are  only  beginning  to  collect  the  facts." 
The  lawyer  spoke  in  the  coldest  and  most  austere  manner.  "I  am 
laying  them,  one  by  one,  before  you." 

Young  Arundel  bowed. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  13 

"  Observe,  then,  that  the  forged  check  belongs  to  a  check-book 
which  has  been  lying,  forgotten  by  rae,  in  this  safe  for  two  years. 
Here  is  the  book.  Turn  to  the  last  counterfoil.  Here  is  the 
check,  the  forged  check,  which  corresponds.     You  see  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  The  book  has  been  in  the  safe  for  two  years.  It 
has  been  taken  out  by  some  one — presumably  the  forger;  the 
check  has  been  forged,  the  counterfoil  filled  up,  and  the  book 
replaced.  Why  was  all  this  trouble  taken  ?  If  the  man  had  got 
the  check,  why  did  he  fill  up  the  counterfoil  ?  Why  did  he  re- 
turn the  book  ?     I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Your  questions  are  pertinent.  I  come  to  the  next  point.  The 
safe  is  never  opened  but  by  myself.  It  is  open  so  long  as  I  am 
in  the  room,  and  at  no  other  time." 

"  Certainly.     I  know  that." 

*'  Very  well.  The  man  who  took  out  the  check-book,  forged 
the  check,  and  replaced  the  book  must  have  done  it  in  my  very 
presence." 

"  Oh  !  could  not  some  one — somehow — have  got  a  key  1" 

*'  I  thought  of  that.  It  is  possible.  But  the  drawers  are  full 
of  valuables,  jewelry,  curios — all  kinds  of  things  which  could  easily 
be  turned  into  money.  And  they  were  not  touched.  Now,  had 
the  safe  been  opened  by  a  key,  these  things  would  certainly  have 
vanished." 

"  So  it  would  seem." 

"  These  arc  the  main  facts,  Mr.  Arundel.  Oh  !  one  more.  We 
have  found  the  messenger  who  cashed  the  check.  Perhaps  there 
are  one  or  two  other  points  of  more  or  less  importance.  There  is 
only  one  more  point  I  wish  to  bring  before  you.  Of  course  I 
make  no  charge — I  insinuate  none.  But  this  must  be  remem- 
bered—  there  are  only  two  persons  who  have  had  access  to  this 
safe  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  possible  for  them  to  take 
anything  out  of  it — Checkley — " 

"  No — no — no  !"  cried  the  old  man. 

"  And  you  yourself.  At  the  time  of  the  robbery  you  were 
working  at  that  table,  with  the  safe  open  and  within  reach  of  your 
left  hand.  This  is  a  fact,  mind — one  of  the  facts  of  the  case — 
not  a  charge." 

*'  What  r'  cried  the  young  man,  his  cheek  aflame,  "you  mean — " 

"  I  mean  nothing — nothing  at  all.  I  want  you  and  Checkley — 
who  alone  have  used  this  room,  not  counting  callers  who  sat  in 
that  chair — to  know  the  facts." 


14  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"The  facts  —  yes  —  of  course — the  facts.  Well" — he  spolce 
rapidly  and  a  little  incoherently — "  it  is  true  that  I  worked  here 
— but — oh  !  it  is  absurd.  I  knew  nothing  of  any  check-book 
lying  in  your  safe.  I  was  working  at  this  table" — he  went  to  the 
table — "sitting  in  this  chair.  How  could  I  get  up  and  search 
about  in  a  safe  for  an  unknown  and  unsuspected  check-book  be- 
fore your  very  eyes  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  seems  impossible.  I  only  desire  yon  to 
consider,  with  me,  the  facts." 

Had  Mr.  Bering  spoken  just  a  little  less  coldly,  with  just  a  lit- 
tle less  dryness  in  his  manner,  what  followed  would  perhaps  have 
been  different. 

"Yes — the  facts,"  repeated  the  young  man.  "  Well,  let  us  get 
at  the  facts.  The  chief  fact  is  that  whoever  took  that  check  and 
filled  it  up  must  have  known  of  the  existence  of  that  check-book 
more  than  two  years  old." 

"  It  would  seem  so." 

"Who  could  know  about  that  old  check-book?  Only  one  who 
had  been  about  your  office  more  than  two  years,  or  one  who  had 
had  opportunities  of  examining  the  safe.  Now,  you  sat  there — I 
sat  here" — he  seated  himself,  only  turning  the  chair  round.  "  How 
is  it  possible  for  a  man  sitting  here  to  take  anything  out  of  that 
safe  without  your  seeing  him?  How  is  it  possible  for  him,  with- 
out your  knowledge,  to  examine  slowly  and  carefully  the  contents 
of  the  safe  ?" 

"  Everything  is  possible,"  said  Mr.  Dering,  still  coldly.  "  Let 
us  not  argue  on  possibilities.  AVe  liave  certain  facts  before  us. 
By  the  help  of  these  I  shall  hope  to  find  out  others." 

"  At  five  o'clock  every  day  I  put  the  work  in  the  drawer  of  this 
table,  and  come  away."  He  opened  the  drawer,  as  if  to  illustrate 
this  unimportant  fact.  He  saw  in  it  two  or  three  pieces  of  paper 
with  writing  on  them.  He  took  them  out.  "Good  heavens!"  he 
cried.     "  They  are  imitations  of  your  handwriting." 

Checkley  crossed  the  room  swiftly,  snatched  them  from  him, 
and  laid  them  before  his  master.  "Imitations  of  your  handwrit- 
ing," he  said.  "  Imitations — exercises  in  forgery — practice  makes 
perfect — found  in  the  drawer.     Now  !" 

Mr.  Dering  looked  at  the  papers,  and  laid,  them  beside  the 
forged  check.  "  An  additional  fact,"  he  said.  "  These  are  cer- 
tainly imitations.  The  probable  conclusion  is  that  they  were 
made  by  the  same  hand  that  forged  this  check." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  15 

"Found  in  tlie  drawer,"  said  Checkley,  "used  by  Mr.  Arundel, 
never  by  inc.  Ali !  The  only  two,  are  we?  Tlicse  imitations 
will  prove  tbat  I'm  not  in  it." 

"The  fact  tliat  these  imitations  arc  found  in  the  drawer,"  said 
Mr.  Derino',  "is  a  fact  which  may  or  may  not  be  important." 

"What?"  cried  tlie  young  man,  flaring  up — "you  tliink  that 
/  made  those  imitations  ?" 

"  I  do  not  permit  myself — yet — to  mal^c  any  conclusions  at  all. 
Everything,  however,  is  possible." 

Then  this  foolish  young  man  lost  liis  temper  and  his  head. 

"You  have  known  me  all  my  life,"  he  cried,  "You  liave 
known  me  and  all  my  people.  Yet  at  tlie  first  moment  you  are 
ready  to  believe  that  I  have  committed  a  most  abominable  for- 
gery !  You — my  father's  oldest  friend — my  mother's  trustee — 
my  own  guardian  !     You  !" 

"Pardon  me.  There  are  certain  facts  in  this  case.  I  have  laid 
them  before  you.     I  have  shown — " 

"To  suspect  me!"  Arundel  repeated;  "and  all  the  time  another 
man — that  man,  your  clerk — who  knows  everything  ever  done  in 
tliis  office  is  in  and  about  the  place  all  day  long." 

"The  imitations,"  said  Checklcy  quietly,  "were  found  in  liis 
own  drawer — by  himself." 

"  Who  put  them  there?  Who  made  them?  You — villain  and 
scoundrel  !" 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  Mr.  Dering  coldly.  "We  go  too  fast.  Let 
us  first  prove  our  facts.    'We  will  then  proceed  to  conclusions." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  clearly  believe  that  I  forged  your  name  and 
robbed  you  of  all  tliis  money.  I  liavc  not  got  ten  pounds  in  the 
world ;  but  that  is  not,  I  suppose,  a  fact  wliicli  bears  on  the  case. 
You  think  I  have  seven  liundred  pounds  somcwliere.  Very  good. 
Think  so,  if  you  please.  Meanwhile,  I  am  not  going  to  stay  in 
the  service  of  a  man  who  is  capable  of  thinking  such  a  thing.  I 
leave  your  service — at  once.  Get  some  one  else  to  serve  you — 
somebody  wlio  likes  being  charged  with  forgery  and  theft."  He 
flung  liimself  out  of  the  room,  and  banged  the  door  behind  liim. 

"He  has  run  away,"  said  Checkley.  "Actually  run  away  at 
the  very  outset!     What  do  you  think  now?" 

"  I  do  not  think.  We  shall,  I  dare  say,  find  out  the  truth  in 
due  course.  Meantime,  these  documents  will  remain  in  my  keep- 
ing." 


16  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"Only  I  hope,  sir,"  the  cleric  began,  "that  after  what  you've 
just  seen  and  beard — after  such  insolence  and  running-  away  and 
all—" 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,  Checkley.  So  far  as  appearances  go  no  one 
could  get  at  the  safe  except  you  and  Arundel.  So  far  as  the  ascer- 
tained facts  go  there  is  notiiing  to  connect  either  of  you  with  the 
thing.  He  is  a  foolish  young  man ;  and  if  he  is  innocent,  which 
we  must,  I  suppose,  believe" — but  his  look  did  not  convey  the 
idea  of  robust  faith — "  he  will  come  back  when  he  has  cooled 
down," 

"  The  imitations  of  your  handwriting  in  his  drawer — " 

"  The  man  who  forged  the  check,"  said  Mr.  Bering,  "  whoever 
lie  was,  could  easily  have  written  those  imitations.  I  shall  see 
that  hot-lieadcd  boy's  mother,  and  bring  him  to  reason.  Now, 
Checkle}',  we  will  resume  work.  And  not  a  word  of  this  business, 
if  you  please,  outside.  You  have  yourself  to  think  of  as  well, 
remember.  You,  as  well  as  that  boy,  have  access  to  the  safe. 
Enough — enough." 

Athelstan  Arundel  walked  home  all  the  way,  foaming  and  rag- 
ing. No  omnibus,  cab,  or  conveyance  ever  built  could  contain  a 
young  man  in  such  a  rage.  His  mother  lived  at  Pembridge 
Square,  which  is  four  good  measured  miles  from  Lincoln's  Inn. 
He  walked  the  whole  way,  walking  through  crowds,  and  under 
the  noses  of  dray-horses,  carriage-horses,  and  cart-horses,  without 
taking  the  least  notice  of  them.  When  he  reached  home,  he 
dashed  into  the  drawing-room,  where  he  found  his  two  sisters — 
Hilda  and  Elsie — one  of  them  a  girl  of  eighteen,  the  other  of 
thirteen.  With  flaming  cheeks  and  fiery  eyes  he  delivered  him- 
self of  his  story;  he  hurled  it  at  their  heads;  he  called  upon 
them  to  share  his  indignation,  and  to  join  with  him  in  scorn  and 
contempt  of  the  man — their  supposed  best  friend,  trustee,  guar- 
dian, adviser ;  their  father's  best  friend — who  had  done  this  thing 
— who  had  accused  him,  on  the  bare  evidence  of  two  or  three  cir- 
cumstantial facts,  of  such  a  crime  ! 

There  is  something  magnetic  in  all  great  emotions;  one  proof 
of  their  reality  is  that  they  are  magnetic.  It  is  only  an  actor 
who  can  endow  an  assumed  emotion  with  magnetism.  Elsie,  the 
younger  girl,  fell  into  a  corresponding  sympathy  of  wrath;  she 
was  equal  to  the  occasion  ;  passion  for  passion,  she  joined  him 
and  fed  the  flame.     But — for  all  persons  are  not  magnetic — the 


THE    IVORY    GATE  17 

elder  sister  remained  cold.  From  time  to  time  slie  wanted  to 
know  exactly  what  Mr.  Dering  had  said ;  this  her  brother  was 
too  angry  to  remember;  she  was  pained  and  puzzled  ;  she  neither 
soothed  him  nor  sympathized  with  him. 

Then  the  mother  returned,  and  the  whole  story  was  told  again, 
Elsie  assisting.  Now,  Mrs.  Arundel  was  a  woman  of  great  sense ; 
a  practical  woman  ;  a  woman  of  keen  judgment.  She  prided 
herself  upon  the  possession  of  these  qualities,  which  arc  not  sup- 
posed to  be  especially  feminine.  She  heard  the  story  with  dis- 
turbed face  and  knitted  brow. 

"Surely,"  she  said,  "what  you  tell  me,  Athelstan,  is  beyond 
belief.  Mr.  Dering,  of  all  men,  to  accuse  you — you — of  such  a 
thing !    It  is  impossible." 

"  I  wish  it  were  impossible.  lie  accuses  me  of  forging  that 
check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds.  lie  savs  that 
while  I  was  working  in  his  office  for  him,  a  fortnight  ago,  I  took 
a  certain  check-book  out  of  the  safe,  forged  his  writing  on  a 
check,  and  returned  the  check-book.  This  is  what  he  says.  Do 
you  call  that  accusing,  or  don't  you?" 

"Certainly.  If  he  says  that.  But  how  can  he — Mr.  Dering, 
the  most  exact  and  careful  of  men  ?  I  will  drive  to  Lincoln's  Inn 
at  once,  and  find  out.  My  dear  boy,  pray  calm  yourself.  There 
is — there  must  be — some  terrible  mistake." 

She  went  immediately,  and  she  had  a  long  interview  with  the 
solicitor. 

Mr.  Dering  was  evidently  much  disturbed  by  what  had  hap- 
pened. He  did  not  receive  her  as  he  usually  received  his  clients, 
sitting  in  his  arm-chair.  He  pushed  back  the  chair  and  stood 
up,  leaning  a  hand  on  the  back  of  it,  a  tall,  thin,  erect  figure, 
gray-haired,  austere  of  face.  There  was  little  to  reassure  the 
mother  in  that  face.     The  very  trouble  of  it  made  her  heart  sink. 

"  I  certainly  have  not  accused  Athelstan,"  he  said.  "  It  is, 
however,  quite  true  that  there  has  been  a  robbery  here,  and  that 
of  a  large  sum  of  money — no  less  than  seven  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds." 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  my  boy?" 

"  We  have  made  a  few  preliminary  inquiries.  I  will  do  for 
you,  Mrs.  Arundel,  what  I  did  for  your  son,  and  you  shall  your- 
self understand  what  connection  those  inquiries  have  with  him." 

He  proceeded  coldly  and  without  comment  to  set  forth  the 


18  THE    IVORY    OATE 

case  so  far  as  lie  had  got  at  tlie  facts.  As  lie  went  on  the  moth- 
er's heart  became  as  heavy  as  lead.  Before  he  finished  she  was 
certain.  There  is,  you  see,  a  way  of  presenting  a  case  without 
comment  which  is  more  efficacious  than  any  amount  of  talk  ;  and 
Mrs.  Arundel  plainly  perceived — which  was  indeed  the  case — 
that  the  lawyer  had  by  this  time  little  doubt  in  his  own  mind 
that  her  son  had  done  this  thing. 

"  I  thought  it  right,"  he  continued,  "  to  lay  before  him  these 
facts  at  the  outset.  '  If  he  is  innocent,'  I  thought,  '  he  will  be  the 
better  able  to  prove  his  innocence,  and  perhaps  to  find  the  guilty 
person.  If  he  is  guilty,  he  may  be  led  to  confession  or  restitu- 
tion.' The  facts  about  the  check-book  and  the  safe  are  very 
clear.  I  am  certain  that  the  safe  has  not  been  opened  by  any 
other  key.  The  only  persons  who  have  had  access  to  it  are  Check- 
lev  and  your  son  Athelstan.  As  for  Checkley — he  wouldn't  do 
it;  he  could  not  possibly  do  it;  the  thing  is  quite  beyond  him." 

Mrs.  Arundel  groaned.     "  This  is  terrible,"  she  said. 

"  Meantime,  the  notes  are  numbered ;  they  may  be  traced ; 
they  are  stopped ;  we  shall  certainly  find  the  criminal  by  means 
of  those  notes." 

"Mr.  Dering" — Mrs.  Arundel  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on  his — 
"  you  are  our  very  old  friend.  Tell  me — if  this  wretched  boy 
goes  away — if  he  gives  back  the  money  that  remains — if  I  find 
the  rest — will  there  be — any  further — investigation  ?" 

"  To  compound  a  felony  is  a  crime.  It  is,  however,  one  of 
those  crimes  which  men  sometimes  commit  without  repentance 
or  shame.  My  dear  lady,  if  he  will  confess  and  restore — we 
shall  see." 

Mrs.  Arundel  drove  home  again.  She  came  away  fully  per- 
suaded in  her  own  mind  that  her  son — her  only  son — and  none 
other,  must  be  that  guilty  person.  She  knew  Mr.  Bering's  room 
well — she  had  sat  there  hundreds  of  times;  she  knew  the  safe; 
she  knew  old  Checkley.  She  perceived  the  enormous  improba- 
bility of  this  ancient  clerk's  doing  such  a  thing.  She  knew, 
again,  what  temptations  assail  a  young  man  in  London  ;  she  saw 
what  her  trustee  thought  of  it;  and  she  jumped  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  her  son — and  none  other — was  the  guilty  person.  She 
even  saw  how  he  must  have  done  it — she  saw  the  quick  look 
while  Mr.  Dering's  back  was  turned;  the  snatching  of  the  check- 
book ;  the  quick  replacing  it.     Iler  very  keenness  of  judgment 


THE    IVORY    GATE  19 

helped  her  to  the  conviction.  Women  less  clever  would  have 
been  slower  to  believe.  Sbamefnl,  miserable  termination  of  all 
lier  hopes  for  lier  boy's  career!  But  that  she  could  think  of 
afterwards.  For  the  moment  the  only  thing  was  to  get  the  boy 
away — to  induce  him  to  confess — and  to  get  hiin  awav. 

lie  was  calmer  when  she  got  home,  but  he  was  still  talking 
about  the  thing — he  would  wait  till  the  right  man  was  discovered  ; 
then  he  would  have  old  Dering  on  his  knees.  The  thing  would 
be  set  right  in  a  few  days.  He  had  no  fear  of  any  delay.  He 
was  quite  certain  that  it  was  Checkley — that  old  vilhiin.  Oh  ! 
he  couldn't  do  it  by  himself,  of  course — nobody  couhl  believe 
that  of  him.  He  had  accomplices — confederates — behind  him. 
Checkley's  part  of  the  job  was  to  steal  the  check-book,  and  give 
it  to  liis  confederates,  and  share  the  swag. 

"Well,  mother?"  he  asked. 

His  mother  sat  down.     She  looked  pale  and  wretched. 

"  Mother !"  cried  Hilda,  the  elder  sister.  "  Quick  !  What  has 
happened  ?    What  does  Mr.  Dering  say  ?" 

"  He  accuses  nobody,"  she  replied,  in  a  hard,  dry  voice. 
"  But—" 

"  But  what  ?"  asked  Hilda. 

"He  told  me  everything  —  everything  —  and  —  and —  Oh!" 
She  burst  into  sobs  and  crying,  though  she  despised  women  who 
cry.  "  It  is  terrible — it  is  terrible — it  is  incredible.  Yet  what 
can  I  think?  What  can  any  one  think?  Leave  us,  Hilda.  Leave 
us,  Elsie."  The  two  girls  went  out  unwillingly.  "  Oh,  my  son  ! 
— how  can  I  believe  it?  And  yet — on  the  one  liand  a  boy  of 
two-and-twenty,  exposed  to  all  the  temptations  of  town  ;  on  the 
other  an  old  clerk  of  fifty  years'  service  and  integrity.  And 
when  the  facts  are  laid  before  you  both — calmly  and  coldly — 
you  fly  into  a  rage  and  run  away,  while  Checkley  calmly  remains 
to  await  the  inquiry." 

Mrs.  Arundel  had  been  accustomed  all  her  life  to  consider  Mr. 
Dering  as  the  wisest  of  men.  She  felt  instinctively  that  he  re- 
garded her  son  with  suspicion.  She  heard  all  the  facts ;  she 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  a  prodigal  and  a  profli- 
gate;  that  he  had  fallen  into  evil  ways,  and  spent  money  in  riot- 
ous living.  She  concluded  that  he  had  committed  this  crime 
in  order  to  get  more  money  for  skittles  and  oranges. 

"Athelstan" — she  laid  her  hand  upon   his  arm,  but  did  not 


20  THE    IVORY    GATE 

dare  to  lift  her  eyes  and  behold  that  guilty  face — **  Athelstan, 
confess — make  reparation  so  far  as  yon  can — confess — oh  !  my 
son — my  son  !  You  will  be  caught  and  tried  and  fonnd  guilty, 
and — oh  !  I  cannot  say  it — through  the  notes  which  you  have 
changed.     They  arc  all  known  and  stopped." 

The  boy's  wrath  was  now  changed  to  madness. 

"You!"  he  cried — "you?  My  own  mother?  You  believe  it 
— no?  Oh  !  we  are  all  going  mad  together.  What?  Then  I  am 
turned  out  of  this  house,  as  I  am  turned  out  of  my  place.  I  go, 
then — I  go;  and" — here  he  swore  a  mighty  oath,  as  strong  as 
anybody  out  of  Spain  can  make  them — "  I  will  never — never — 
never  come  home  again  till  you  come  yourself  to  beg  forgive- 
ness.     You — my  own  mother  !" 

Outside,  in  the  hall,  his  sisters  stood,  waiting  and  trembling. 

"Athelstan,"  cried  the  elder,  Hilda,  a  girl  of  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen, "what,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  have  you  done?" 

"  Go  ask  my  mother.  She  will  tell  you.  She  knows,  it  seems, 
better  than  I  know  myself.  I  am  driven  away  by  my  own  mother. 
She  says  that  I  am  guilty  of — of — of  forgery." 

"  If  she  says  so,  Athelstan,"  his  sister  replied  coldly,  "  she 
must  have  her  reasons.  She  would  not  drive  you  out  of  the 
house  for  nothing.  Don't  glare  like  that.  Prove  your  inno- 
cence." 

"  What  ?  You,  too  ?  Oh  !  I  am  driven  away  by  my  sisters 
as  well—" 

"  No,  Athelstan — no,"  cried  Elsie,  catching  his  hand.  "  Not 
both  your  sisters." 

"My  poor  child!" — he  stooped  and  kissed  her — "they  will 
make  you  believe  what  they  believe.  Good  heavens!  They  make 
haste  to  believe  it ;  they  are  glad  to  believe  it." 

"  No — no  !  Don't  go,  Athelstan."  Elsie  threw  her  arms  about 
him.  "  Stay,  and  show  that  they  are  wrong.  Oh  !  you  are  in- 
nocent.    I  will  never — never — never  believe  it." 

He  kissed  her  again,  and  tore  himself  away.  The  street-door 
slammed  behind  him  ;  they  heard  his  footsteps  as  he  strode  away. 
He  had  gone. 

Then  Elsie  fell  into  loud  weeping  and  wailing.  But  Hilda 
went  to  comfort  her  mother. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  did  he  really — really  and  truly  do 
it?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  21 

"  What  else  can  I  believe?  Either  he  did  it  or  that  old  clerk. 
Where  is  he  ?" 

"  lie  is  gone.  He  says  he  will  come  back  when  his  innocence 
is  proved.  Mother,  if  he  is  innocent,  why  does  ho  run  away  ? 
It's  foolish  to  say  that  it  is  becansc  wc  believe  it.  I've  said 
nothing  except  that  you  couldn't  believe  it  without  reasons.  In- 
nocent young  men  don't  run  away  when  they  are  charged  with 
robbery.  They  stay  and  fight  it  out.  Athelstan  should  have 
stayed." 

Later  on,  when  they  were  both  a  little  recovered,  Hilda  tried 
to  consider  the  subject  more  calraly.  She  had  not  her  mother's 
cleverness,  but  she  was  not  without  parts.  The  following  re- 
marks— made  by  a  girl  of  eighteen — prove  so  much. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  perhaps  it  is  better,  so  long  as  tliis  sus- 
picion rests  upon  him,  that  he  should  be  away.  We  shall  cer- 
tainly know  where  he  is — he  will  want  money,  and  will  write  for 
it.  If  it  should  prove  that  somebody  else  did  the  thing  we  can 
easily  bring  him  back  as  a  martyr — for  my  own  part  I  should  be 
so  glad  that  I  would  willingly  beg  his  pardon  on  my  knees — and 
of  course  we  could  easily  get  him  replaced  in  the  office.  If  it  is 
proved  that  he  did  do  it — and  that,  you  think,  they  will  be  cer- 
tain to  find  out — Mr.  Dering,  for  your  sake,  will  be  ready  to 
Lush  it  up.  Perhaps  we  may  get  the  notes  back — he  can't  liave 
used  them  all  ;  in  any  case,  it  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  feel  that 
he  is  out  of  the  way.  A  brother  tried  in  open  court — convicted — 
sentenced — oh  !"  She  sliuddered.  "  We  should  never  get  over 
it;  never,  never!  It  would  be  a  most  dreadful  tiling  for  Elsie 
and  me.  As  for  his  going  away,  if  people  ask  why  lie  is  gone, 
and  wlicre,  we  must  invent  something — we  can  easily  make  up  a 
story — hint  that  he  has  been  wild;  there  is  no  disgrace,  happily, 
about  a  young  man  being  wild — that  is  the  only  thing  that  recon- 
ciles one  to  the  horrid  selfishness  of  wild  young  men  ;  and  if,  by 
going  away  in  a  pretended  rage,  Athelstan  has  really  enabled  us 
to  escape  a  liorrid  scandal — why,  mother,  in  that  case  we  may 
confess  that  the  blow  has  been  by  Providence  most  mercifully 
softened  for  us — most  mercifully.  We  ought  to  consider  that, 
raotlier." 

"Yes,  dear,  yes.  But  he  is  gone.  Athelstan  is  gone.  And 
his  future  seems  ruined.  There  is  no  hope  for  him.  I  can  see 
no  hope  whatever.     My  dear,  he  was  so  promising.     I  thou"^ht 


22  THE    IVORY    GATK 

that  all  the  family  influence  would  be  liis — we  haven't  got  a 
single  City  solicitor  in  the  wliole  family,  I  tliought  that  he  was 
so  clever  and  so  ambitious,  and  so  eager  to  get  on  and  make 
money  and  be  a  credit  to  the  family.  Solicitors  do  sometimes — 
especially  City  solicitors — become  so  very,  very  rich ;  and  now  it 
is  all  gone  and  done — and  nothing  left  to  hope  but  the  miserable 
wish  that  there  should  be  no  scandal." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  dreadful.  But  still — consider — no  scandal. 
Mother,  I  think  we  should  find  out,  if  we  can,  something  about 
his  private  life — how  he  has  been  living.  lie  has  been  out  a 
good  deal  of  evenings  lately.  If  there  is  any — any  person  on 
wliom  he  has  been  tempted  to  spend  money — if  he  has  been 
gambling,  or  betting,  or  any  of  the  things  that  I  read  of" — this 
yonno-  lady,  thanks  to  the  beneficent  assistance  of  certain  works 
of  fiction,  was  tolerably  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  young  men 
and  their  temptations — "  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  know  it  at 
least." 

The  ladies  of  a  family  where  there  is  a  "  wild"  young  man  do 
not  generally  find  it  easy  to  get  at  the  facts  of  his  wildness;  they 
remain  locked  up  in  the  bosoms  of  his  companions.  No  details 
could  be  learned  about  any  wildness — quite  the  contrary.  He 
seemed,  so  far  as  could  be  learned,  to  have  led  a  very  quiet  and 
regular  life.  "  But  then,"  said  the  philosopher  of  eighteen, 
quoting  from  a  novel,  "  men  shelter  each  other.  They  are  all  bad 
together." 

But — no  scandal. 

Everybody  knows  that  kind  of  brother  or  sister  by  whom  all  fam- 
ily events  are  considered  with  a  view  to  the  scandal  likely  to  be 
caused  and  the  personal  injury  resulting  to  himself  or  herself;  or 
the  envy  that  will  follow  and  the  personal  advantage  accruing  from 
that  event.  That  her  brother  was  perhaps  a  shameful  criminal 
might  be  considered  by  Hilda  Arundel  later  on ;  at  first,  she  was 
only  capable  of  perceiving  that  this  horrid  fact,  unless  it  could  be 
hidden  away  and  kept  secret,  might  very  materially  injure  herself. 

Almost  naturally,  she  folded  her  hands  sweetly  and  laid  her 
comely  head  a  little  on  one  side — it  is  an  attitude  of  resignation 
which  may  be  observed  in  certain  pictures  of  saints  and  holy 
women.  Hilda  knew  many  little  attitudes.  Also,  quite  natu- 
rally, she  glanced  at  a  mirror  on  the  wall,  and  observed  that  her 
pose  was  one  of  sorrow  borne  with  Christian  resignation. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  23 

We  must  blame  neither  Hilda  nor  licr  mother.  The  case,  as 
put  by  Mr.  Deling,  in  the  form  of  plain  fact  without  any  com- 
ment, did  seem  very  black,  indeed,  against  Athelstan.  In  every 
family  the  first  feeling  in  such  a  case — it  is  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation — is  to  hush  up  the  thing  if  possible — to  avoid  a 
scandal. 

Such  a  scandal  as  the  prosecution  of  a  brother  for  forgery — 
with  a  verdict  of  guilty — is  a  most  truly  horrible,  deplorable, 
fatal  thing.  It  takes  the  respectability  out  of  a  family  perhaps 
at  a  critical  moment,  when  the  family  is  just  assuming  the  robes 
of  respectability  ;  it  ruins  the  chances  of  the  girls;  it  blights  the 
prospects  of  the  boys;  it  drives  away  friends;  it  is  a  black  spot 
which  all  the  soaps  ever  advertised  could  never  wash  off.  There- 
fore, while  the  mother  hoped,  first  of  all,  that  the  boy  would 
escape  the  clutch  of  the  law,  Hilda  was,  first  of  all,  grateful  that 
there  would  be  no  scandal.  Mr.  Bering  would  not  talk  about  it. 
The  thing  would  not  interfere  with  lier  own  prospects.  It  was 
sad,  it  was  miserable;  but  yt't — no  scandal.  With  what  a  deep, 
deep  sigh  of  satisfaction  did  the  young  lady  repeat  that  there 
would  probably  be  no  scandal ! 

As  for  Elsie,  that  child  went  about  for  many  days  with  tearful 
eyes,  red  cheeks,  and  a  swollen  nose.  She  was  rebellious  and 
sharp  with  her  mother,  and  to  her  sister  she  refused  to  speak. 
The  days  went  on.  They  became  weeks,  months,  years — other- 
wise they  would  not  have  been  days.  Nothing  at  all  was  heard 
of  Athelstan.  lie  sent  no  letters  to  any  one ;  he  did  not  even 
write  for  money  ;  they  knew  not  where  he  was  or  what  he  was 
doing.  lie  disappeared.  It  was  understood  that  there  had  been 
wildncss. 

Now — which  was  very  remarkable — though  the  forger  had  liad 
a  clear  run  of  three  weeks,  it  could  not  be  discovered  that  any  of 
the  notes  had  been  presented.  Perhaps  they  were  sent  abroad; 
yet  foreign  and  colonial  banks  would  know  the  numbers  of 
stopped  notes.  And  towards  the  discovery  of  the  forger  no  fur- 
ther step  had  been  taken.  The  commissionaire  who  took  the 
check  had  been,  as  you  liave  seen,  easily  found ;  he  said  he  sliould 
know  the  old  gentleman  who  gave  him  the  forged  draft  to  cash. 
He  said,  being  again  interrogated,  that  Checkley  was  not  in  the 
least  like  that  old  gentleman.  What  could  be  thought,  then? 
Athelstan  must  have  "made-up"  as  an  old  man — he  was  fond  of 


24  THE    IVOUy    GATE 

private  theatricals;  lie  could  make-up  very  well ;  of  course  lie  had 
made-up.  And  then,  this  point  being  settled,  they  left  off  talking 
about  the  business. 

Other  things  happened — important  things — which  made  the 
memory  of  the  prodigal  son  to  wax  dim.  First  of  all  came  Hilda's 
case.  She  was  a  graceful  young  person,  with  features  of  great 
regularity;  her  expression  was  cold,  her  eyes  were  hard,  and  her 
lips  were  a  little  thin,  but  these  things  at  nineteen  are  liardly 
perceived.  She  was  that  sort  of  girl  who  seems  created  for  the 
express  purpose,  first,  of  wearing  and  beautifying  costly  raiment, 
and  next,  of  sitting  in  a  splendid  vehicle.  The  finer  the  dress,  the 
more  beautiful  she  looked.  The  grander  the  carriage,  the  more 
queenly  she  seemed.  In  rags  her  coldness  would  be  arctic,  bcr  hard- 
ness would  be  granitic;  in  silk  and  velvet  she  became  a  goddess. 
It  was  therefore  most  fitting  that  she  should  marry  a  rich  man. 
Now,  to  be  rich  in  these  days  one  must  be  old.  It  is  the  price 
that  one  has  to  pay  for  wealth.  Sometimes  one  pays  the  price,  and 
docs  not  get  what  one  lias  paid  for.  That  seems  hardly  fair. 
There  was  a  certain  rich  man — Mr.  Dering's  younger  brother.  Sir 
Samuel  Dering,  knight — one  of  the  most  substantial  City  men,  a 
man  who  had  a  house  in  Kensington  Palace  Gardens,  a  yacht, 
a  country  place  in  Sussex,  and  piles  of  papers  in  a  safe,  meaning 
investments.  He  was  a  widower  without  encumbrance;  he  was 
fifty-seven  years  of  ago,  not  yet  decayed  ;  he  wanted  a  wife  to  be 
the  mistress  of  his  house  and  to  look  well  at  his  dinner-parties. 
Of  course,  when  one  does  want  a  wife,  at  any  age,  one  wants  her 
young.  Hilda  Arundel,  his  brother's  ward,  looked  as  if  she 
would  discharge  the  duties  required  of  the  position  admirably. 
He  suggested  the  arrangement  to  his  brother,  who  spoke  about  it. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  talking  about  it.  Mrs.  Arundel 
showed  that  she  knew  the  value  of  her  daughter,  but  there  was 
no  doubt  about  the  conclusion  of  the  matter.  There  was  a  grand 
wedding,  at  which  all  the  richer  Arundcls  were  present  and  none 
of  the  poor  relations.  Mr.  Dering,  the  young  lady's  guardian, 
gave  her  away ;  Hilda  became  Lady  Dering,  and  has  been  per- 
fectly happy  ever  since.  Elsie  remained  with  her  mother.  Her 
brother  was  never  spoken  of  between  them.  But  she  remembered 
him,  and  she  was  firm  in  her  conviction  that  his  innocence  would 
be,  some  day,  established. 

After  a  few  years,  nothing  at  all  having  been  heard  of  the  notes, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  25 

Mr.  Dering  made  application  to  the  Bank  of  England,  and  re- 
ceived from  it  the  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
in  new,  crisp  notes  in  the  place  of  those  of  which  he  had  been 
robbed,  so  that  the  actual  loss  at  four  per  cent,  compound  inter- 
est amounted  to  no  more  than  £155  19s,  did.,  which  is  more 
than  one  likes  to  lose,  yet  is  not  actually  embarrassing  to  a  man 
whose  income  is  about  six  thousand  a  year.  He  ceased  to  think 
about  the  business  altogether,  except  as  a  disagreeable  episode  of 
his  office. 

Thus  Athelstan  Arundel  became  completely  forgotten.  His 
old  friends — the  young  men  with  whom  he  had  played  and 
sported — only  remembered  him  from  time  to  time  as  a  fellow  who 
had  come  to  some  unknown  grief,  and  had  gone  away.  There  is 
always  some  young  fellow  in  every  set  of  young  fellows  who  gets 
into  some  scrape,  and  so  leaves  the  circle,  and  is  no  more  seen  or 
heard  of.  Wo  go  on  just  the  same  without  him;  very  seldom 
that  such  a  man  is  remembered  long.  It  is  the  way  of  the  world ; 
we  cannot  stop  to  lament  over  the  fallen  ;  we  must  push  on ; 
others  fall ;  close  up  the  ranks ;  push  on ;  Time  drives ;  the 
memory  of  the  fallen  swiftly  waxes  dim. 

Four  years  or  so  after  the  mysterious  business  of  Edmund 
Gray,  Mr.  Dering  received  a  letter  with  an  American  stamp, 
marked  "  Private  and  Confidential."  He  laid  this  aside  until  he 
had  got  through  the  business  letters,  then  he  opened  it.  He 
turned  first  to  the  signature.  "  Ha  !  "  he  said,  "  '  Athelstan  Arun- 
del.'    At  last.     Now  we  shall  see — we  shall  see." 

He  expected  a  full  confession  of  the  crime.  "  We  should  never 
expect,"  says  the  sage,  "  what  we  desire,  because  we  never  obtain 
what  we  expect."  It  would  have  made  Mr.  Dering  more  com- 
fortable in  his  mind  had  the  letter  contained  a  confession.  Of 
course  Athelstan  had  done  it.  Nobody  else  could  have  done  it. 
Yet  when  he  thought  about  the  business  at  all  there  always 
arose  in  his  mind  an  uneasy  feeling  that  perhaps  the  boy  had 
been  treated  unwisely.  It  might  liave  been  more  prudent  to  have 
kept  the  facts  from  him,  although  they  pointed  so  strongly  in 
his  direction,  until  proof  positive  was  obtained.  It  might,  again, 
have  been  better  had  the  facts  been  put  before  him  with  a  few 
words  of  confidence,  even  though  that  confidence  did  not  exist. 
Time  only  strengthened  Mr.  Dcrlng's  suspicions  against  the  young 
man.  The  thing  must  have  been  done  by  Checkley  or  by  him. 
2 


26  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Now,  Checkley  was  not  able,  if  he  had  wished,  to  imitate  any 
handwriting.  No!  It  was  done  by  Athelstan.  Why  he  did  it, 
what  he  got  by  it,  seeing  that  those  notes  had  never  been  pre- 
sented, no  one  could  explain.  Bu  the  did  it — lie  did  it.  That 
was  certain. 

Mr.  Bering,  therefore,  began  to  read  the  letter  with  interest. 
Its  commencement  was  without  any  opening  words  of  respect  or 
friendliness.  And  it  was  not  by  any  means  the  letter  of  a  wicked 
man  turning  away  from  his  wickedness.  Not  a  word  of  repent- 
ance from   beginning  to  end. 

"  '  Four  years  ago,'  "  Mr.  Dering  read,  " '  you  drove  me  from  your 
place  and  changed  my  whole  life,  by  a  suspicion — amounting  to 
a  charge — of  the  gravest  kind.  You  assumed,  without  explana- 
tion or  examination,  that  because  certain  facts  seemed  to  point  in 
a  certain  direction,  I  had  been  guilty  of  an  enormous  crime,  that 
I  had  robbed  my  father's  oldest  friend,  my  mother's  trustee,  my 
own  guardian,  my  employer,  of  a  great  sum  of  money.  You 
never  asked  yourself  if  this  suspicion  was  justified  by  any  conduct 
of  mine — you  jumped  at  it.'  " 

"  Quite  wrong.  Wilfully  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Dering.  *'  I  laid 
the  facts  before  him — nothing  but  the  facts.  I  brought  no 
charge." 

"  'I  dare  say  that  by  this  time  the  criminal  has  been  long  since 
detected.  Had  I  remained  I  would  have  brought  the  thing  home 
to  him.  For  of  course  it  could  be  none  other  than  your  clerk. 
I  have  thought  over  the  case  thousands  of  times.  The  man  who 
forged  the  check  must  have  been  one  of  two — either  your  clerk — 
the  man  Checkley — or  myself.  It  did  not  take  you  long,  I  ap- 
prehend, to  learn  the  truth.  You  would  discover  it  through  the 
presentation  of  the  notes.'  "  "  This  is  a  very  crafty  letter,"  said 
Mr.  Dering — "  when  he  never  presented  any  of  the  notes.  Very 
crafty."  He  resumed  the  letter — '* '  Enough  said  about  that.  I 
dare  say,  however,  that  I  shall  some  day  or  other — before  you  are 
dead,  I  hope — return,  in  order  to  receive  some  expression  of  sor- 
row from  you  if  you  can  feel  shame.' "  "  Certainly  not,"  said 
Mr.  Dering,  with  decision.  " '  Meantime,  there  is  a  service 
which  I  must  ask  of  you  for  the  sake  of  my  people.  There 
is  no  one  else  whom  I  can  ask.  It  is  the  reason  of  ray  writing 
this  letter. 

"  '  I  came  away  with  ten  pounds — all  I  had  in  the  world — in  my 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


27 


pocket.  Not  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  as  you  imagined 
or  suspected.  Ten  pounds.  With  that  slender  capital  I  got 
across  the  Atlantic.  I  have  now  made  twelve  thousand  pounds. 
I  made  it  in  a  very  short  time  by  extraordinary  good  luck,'  "  Mr. 
Dering  laid  down  the  letter,  and  considered.  Twelve  thousand 
pounds  might  be  made — perhaps — by  great  good  luck — with  a 
start  of  seven  hundred  and  twenty,  but  hardly  with  ten,  pounds. 
A  silver  reef — or  more  likely  a  gambling-table  or  other  crime. 
It  will  be  observed  that  his  opinion  of  the  young  man  was  now 
very  bad  indeed ;  otherwise,  he  would  have  reflected  that  as  none 
of  those  notes  had  been  presented,  none  of  them  had  been  used. 
Even  if  an  English  ten-pound  note  is  converted  into  American 
dollars,  the  note  comes  home  after  a  few  years.  "  '  Extraordinary 
good  luck.'"  He  read  the  words  again,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  '  Now,  I  want  you  to  take  charge  of  this  money  ;  to  say  nothing 
at  all  about  it ;  to  keep  the  matter  a  profound  secret ;  to  invest  it, 
or  put  it  in  some  place  of  safety  wliere  confidential  clerks  with 
a  taste  for  forgery  cannot  get  at  it ;  and  to  give  it,  on  her  twenty- 
first  birthday,  to  my  sister  Elsie.  Do  not  tell  her  or  anybody 
from  whom  the  money  comes.  Do  not  tell  anybody  that  you 
liave  heard  from  me.  When  I  came  away  she  was  the  only  one 
of  all  my  friends  and  people  who  declared  that  she  believed  in 
me.  I  now  strip  myself  of  my  whole  possessions  in  order  to 
show  this  mark  of  my  love  and  gratitude  towards  her.  In  send- 
ing you  this  money  I  go  back  to  the  ten  pounds  with  which  I 
started.' " 

Mr.  Dering  laid  the  letter  down.  The  words,  somehow,  seemed 
to  ring  true.'  Could  the  boy — after  all? —  He  shook  his  head, 
and  went  on,  "'You  will  give  Elsie  this  money  on  her  twenty- 
first  birthday,  to  be  settled  on  her  for  herself.  —  Athelstan 
Arundel.'  " 

The  letter  was  dated,  but  no  address  was  given.  The  post- 
mark was  Idaho,  which,  as  we  all  know,  is  in  the  far  West. 

He  looked  into  the  envelope.  There  fell  out  a  paper,  which 
was  a  draft  on  a  well-known  London  firm,  payable  to  his  order, 
for  twelve  thousand   and   fifty  pounds. 

"  Tlii^s  very  unbusiness-like,"  said  Mr.  Dering.  "  He  puts  all 
this  money  in  my  hands,  and  vanishes.  These  are  the  ways  he 
learns,  in  America,  I  suppose.  Puts  the  money  blindly  in  my 
hands,  without  giving  me  the  means  of  communicating  with  him. 


28  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Then  he  vanishes.  How  could  he  prove  that  it  was  a  trust? 
Well,  if  I  could  only  think — but  I  cannot,  the  circumstantial 
evidence  is  too  strong — that  the  boy  was  innocent,  I  should  be 
very  sorry  for  him.  As  for  Elsie — she  must  be  seventeen  now, 
about  seventeen — she  will  get  this  windfall  in  four  years  or  so. 
It  will  be  a  wonderful  lift  for  her.  Perhaps  it  may  make  all  the 
difference  in  her  future!  If  I  could  only  think  that  the  boy 
was  innocent — a  clever  lad,  too,  which  makes  it  more  probable. 
But  I  can't — no,  I  can't.  Either  Checkloy  or  that  boy — and 
Checklcy  couldn't  do  it.  He  couldn't  if  he  were  to  try.  What 
did  the  boy  do  it  for?     And  what  did  he  do  with  those  notes?" 


CUArXER  I 

UP      THE      U I  V  E  U 


"Can  you  not  be  content,  George  ?"  asked  the  girl  sitting  in 
the  stern.  "  I  think  that  I  want  nothing  more  than  this.  If  we 
could  only  go  on  always,  and  always,  and  always,  just  like  this." 
She  had  taken  off  her  right-hand  glove,  and  she  was  dropping  her 
fingers  into  the  cool  waters  of  the  river  as  the  boat  slowly  drifted 
down  stream.  "Always  like  this,"  she  repeated  softly — "with 
you  close  to  me,  so  that  I  could  touch  you  if  I  wanted  to  —  so 
that  I  could  feel  safe,  you  know ;  the  sun  behind  us,  warm  and 
splendid;  such  a  sweet  and  fragrant  air  about  us;  trees  and  gar- 
dens and  fields  and  lanes  on  either  side ;  and  both  of  us  always 
young,  George,  and  —  and  nice  to  look  at,  and  all  the  wprld  be- 
fore us." 

She,  for  one,  was  not  only  young  and  nice  to  look  upon,  but 
fair — very  fair — to  look  upon.  Even  young  persons  of  her  own 
sex,  critics  and  specialists  in  the  art  and  science  of  beauty  — 
rivals  as  well — had  to  confess  that  Elsie  was  rather  pretty.  I  be- 
lieve that  few  such  critics  ever  go  further.  She  was,  to  begin 
with,  of  sufficient  stature  in  a  time  when  dumpy  women  are  not 
considered,  and  when  height  is  a  first  necessity  of  comeliness  ;  she 
paid,  next,  such  obedience  to  the  laws  of  figure  as  becomes  the 
age  of  twenty,  and  is,  with  stature,  rigorously  demanded  at  this 


THE    IVORY    GATE  29 

end  of  the  century.  Iler  cliief  points,  perhaps,  lay  in  her  eyes, 
which  were  of  a  darker  sliade  of  blue  than  is  common.  They 
were  soft,  yet  not  languid;  they  were  full  of  light;  they  were 
large,  and  yet  they  could  be  quick.  Her  face  was  subject  to 
sudden  changes  that  made  it  like  a  spring-time  sky  of  shower, 
rainbow,  sunshine,  and  surprise.  Her  hair  was  of  a  very  common 
brown,  neither  dark  nor  light.  She  was  attired,  this  evening,  in 
a  simple  gray  frock  of  nun's  cloth  with  a  bunch  of  white  roses  on 
her  left  shoulder. 

When  one  says  that  her  companion  was  a  young  man,  nearly 
all  is  said,  because  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  are  surpris- 
ingly alike.  Thousands  of  young  men  can  be  found  like  George 
Auslin.  They  are  all  excellent  fellows,  of  much  higher  principles, 
in  some  things,  than  their  fathers  before  them  ;  not  remarkably 
intellectual,  to  judge  by  their  school  record,  yet  with  intelligence 
and  application  enough  to  get  through  their  examinations  moder- 
ately— fur  the  most  part  they  do  pass  them  with  moderate  suc- 
cess ;  they  are  not  ambitious  of  obtaining  any  of  the  great  prizes 
— which,  indeed,  they  know  to  be  out  of  their  reach — but  they 
always  set  before  themselves  and  keep  always  well  in  sight  the  ideal 
suburban  villa  and  the  wife  ;  they  always  work  steadily,  if  not  fever- 
ishly, with  the  view  of  securing  these  two  blessings;  they  always 
hope  to  secure  an  income  that  will  enable  them  to  maintain  that 
wife  —  with  a  possible  following  of  babies — in  silk  attire  (for 
Sundays) — in  ease  as  to  household  allowance,  and  in  such  freedom 
of  general  expenditure  as  may  enable  her  to  stand  up  among  her 
neighbors  in  church  without  a  blush. 

The  world  is  quite  full  of  such  men ;  they  form  the  rank  and 
file,  the  legionaries;  their  opinion  on  the  subject  of  labor  is 
purely  Scriptural — namely,  that  it  is  a  curse  ;  they  do  not  partic- 
ularly love  any  kind  of  work ;  they  would  prefer,  if  they  had 
the  choice,  to  do  nothing  at  all ;  when  they  get  their  summer 
holiday  they  do  nothing  all  day  long,  with  zeal ;  they  give  no 
more  thought  to  their  work  than  is  sufficient  for  the  bread- win- 
ning; whether  they  are  professional  men  or  trading  men  their 
view  of  professional  work  is  solely  that  it  brings  in  the  money. 
If  such  a  young  man  becomes  a  clerk  he  never  tries  to  learn  any 
more  after  he  has  left  school ;  he  accepts  the  position — a  clerk 
and  a  servant  he  is,  a  clerk  and  a  servant  he  will  remain.  If  he  is 
engaged  in  trade  he  gives  just  so  much  attention  to  his  business  as 


30  THE    IVORY    GATE 

will  keep  his  connection  together — that  and  no  more ;  others  may 
soar;  others  may  become  universal  providers;  for  his  part  he  is 
contented  with  liis  shop  and  his  Sunday  feast.  If  he  becomes  a 
professional  man  he  learns  no  more  of  his  science  than  is  wanted 
every  day.  The  lawyer  passes  his  examination  and  puts  away 
his  law-books — he  knows  enough  for  professional  purposes  ;  the 
doctor  reads  no  more  ;  he  knows  enough  for  the  ordinary  needs  of 
the  G.  P. ;  the  school-master  lays  aside  his  books,  scholarship  and 
science  interest  him  no  longer — he  has  learned  enough  to  teach  his 
boys ;  the  curate  makes  no  further  research  into  the  history  and 
foundations  of  his  Church — he  has  learned  enough.  In  a  word, 
the  average  young  man  is  without  ambition  ;  he  is  inclined  to  be 
lazy;  he  loves  the  present  far  more  than  the  future  —  indeed,  all 
his  ciders  unite  in  letting  him  know  that  his  own  is  quite  the 
most  enviable  time  of  life;  he  likes  to  enjoy  whatever  he  can 
afford,  so  that  he  very  often  eats  up  all  his  wages ;  he  does  not 
read  too  much  ;  he  does  not  think  too  much  ;  he  does  not  vex  his 
soul  too  much  with  the  problems  of  life — greater  problems  or 
lesser  problems,  he  accepts  the  teaching  of  his  newspaper,  and 
agrees  with  the  words  and  the  wisdom  of  yesterday's  leading 
article;  he  accepts  religion,  politics,  morals,  social  systems,  con- 
stitutions, things  present,  past,  and  future,  as  if — which  is  per- 
fectly true — he  had  nothing  to  do  with  them,  and  could  not  help 
it  whatever  was  to  happen.  lie  never  wants  to  alter  anything; 
he  believes  that  all  British  institutions  are  built  on  the  solid  rock 
and  fashioned  out  of  the  hardest  granite — any  exceptions  to  this 
rule,  he  thinks,  have  come  straight  down  from  heaven. 

Observe,  if  you  please,  that  this  kind  of  young  man  confers 
the  greatest  possible  benefits  upon  the  country.  He  ought  to  be 
made  a  baronet  at  least  if  honors  meant  anything.  His  apparent 
sluo'o'ishness  keeps  us  from  the  constant  changes  which  trouble 
some  nations  ;  his  apparent  lack  of  ambition  makes  it  easy  for 
the  restless  spirits  to  rise ;  were  the  country  full  of  aspiring 
young  men  we  should  be  forever  having  civil  wars,  revolutions, 
social  upsydowns,  new  experiments,  new  religions,  new  govern- 
ments, new  divisions  of  property,  every  year.  Again,  it  is  this 
young  man  who,  by  his  steady  attention  to  business — his  readiness 
to  work  as  much  as  is  wanted  but  no  more,  his  disregard  of 
theories  and  speculations,  his  tenacity,  his  honesty,  his  loyalty, 
his  courage,  and  his  stout  heart — has  built  up  the  British  name  so 


THE    IVORY    GATE  31 

that  there  has  never  been  any  name  like  unto  it,  nor  ever  will  be 
again,  for  these  solid  and  substantial  virtues. 

Bcinfy,  then,  just  a  young  man  of  the  time,  George  Austin  was 
naturally  like  most  young  men  in  dress,  in  appearance,  in  lan- 
guage, and  in  manners.  And  had  it  not  been  for  the  strange  ex- 
perience which  he  was  to  undergo,  he  would  have  remained  to 
this  day  just  like  other  young  men.  He  was  better  looking  than 
most,  having  a  good  figure,  a  well-shaped  head,  and  regular  feat- 
ures, with  eves  rather  fuller  of  possibilities  than  falls  to  the  lot 
of  most  young  men.  In  short,  a  good-looking  fellow,  showing 
a  capability  for  something  or  other  in  his  firm  mouth,  ample 
cheek,  strong  chin,  and  resolute  carriage.  He  would  have  made 
a  fine  soldier,  but  perhaps  an  unsuccessful  general  for  want  of 
that  quality  which  in  poets  is  called  genius.  In  the  same  way  he 
would  in  a  lower  walk  keep  a  business  together,  but  would  fail  to 
achieve  a  great  fortune  for  lack  of  the  same  quality.  As  for  his 
age,  he  was  seven-and-twenty. 

"  Always  like  this,"  the  girl  went  on  —  "  always  floating  down 
the  stream  under  a  summer  sky ;  always  sweet  looks  and  love 
and  youth.  It  seems  as  if  we  could  never  be  unhappy,  never  be 
worried,  never  want  anything,  on  such  an  evening  as  this."  She 
turned,  and  looked  up  the  stream  on  which  lay  the  glory  of  the 
sinking  sun  —  she  sighed.  "  It  is  good  to  come  out  on  such  an 
evening  only  to  have  a  brief  dream  of  what  might  be.  When 
will  the  world  give  up  their  foolish  quarrels,  and  join  together  to 
make  the  lives  of  all  happy  ?" 

They  had  been  talking,  among  other  things,  of  Socialism,  all 
out  of  yesterday's  leading  article. 

"  When  there  is  enough  of  good  things  to  go  round  ;  when  we 
invent  a  way  to  make  all  men  ready  to  do  their  share  as  well  as 
to  devour  it ;  when  we  find  out  how  to  make  everybody  contented 
with  his  share." 

Elsie  shook  her  head,  which  was  filled  with  vague  ideas  —  the 
ideas  of  a  restless  and  a  doubting  time.  Then  she  went  back  to 
her  original  proposition.  "  Always  like  this,  George — and  never 
to  get  tired  of  it.  Time  to  stand  still — nothing  to  change ;  never 
to  get  tired  of  it ;  never  to  want  anything  else.  That  is  heaven, 
I  suppose." 

"  We  are  on  earth,  Elsie,"  said  her  lover,  "  and  on  earth 
everything  changes.     If  we  were   to   go   on   drifting   down  the 


32  THE    IVORY    GATE 

stream  we  should  get  into  trouble  over  the  weir.  To  capsize 
would  be  a  pretty  interruption  to  your  heaven,  wouldn't  it? 
And  the  sun  will  soon  be  setting,  and  the  river  will  get  misty, 
and  the  banks  will  grow  ugly.  But  the  chief  thing  is  that  we 
shall  both  grow  ©Id.  And  there  is  such  a  lot  that  we  have  got 
to  do  before  we  grow  old." 

"  Everything  has  to  be  done,"  said  Elsie.  "  I  suppose  we  have 
done  nothing  yet." 

"  We  have  got  to  get  married,  for  the  first  thing,  before  wc 
grow  old." 

"  Couldn't  you  love  an  old  woman,  George  ?'' 

"Not  so  well,  Elsie,"  her  lover  replied,  truthfully.  "At  least, 
I  think  not.  And  oh  !  Elsie,  whenever  I  do  think  of  the  future 
my  heart  goes  down  into  my  boots,  for  the  prospect  grows  darker 
and  darker." 

Elsie  sighed.  She  knew  already,  too  well,  what  was  in  his 
mind.     Plenty  of  girls,  in  these  days,  know  the  familiar  tale. 

"Darker  every  day,"  he  repeated.  "They  keep  on  crowding 
into  the  profession  by  multitudes,  as  if  there  was  room  for  any 
number.  They  don't  understand  that,  what  with  the  decay  of  the 
landed  interest  and  of  the  country  towns,  and  the  cutting  down 
of  the  costs,  and  the  work  that  goes  to  accountants,  there  isn't 
half  the  business  to  do  that  there  was.  There  don't  seem  any 
partnerships  to  be  had  for  love  or  money,  because  the  few  people 
who  have  got  a  good  thing  have  got  no  more  than  enough  for 
themselves.  It  is  no  use  for  the  young  fellows  to  start  by  them- 
selves ;  so  they  have  got  to  take  whatever  they  can  get,  and  they 
are  glad  to  get  even  a  hundred  a  year  to  begin  with — and  I  am 
seven-and-tvventy,  Elsie,  and  I'm  drawing  two  hundred  pounds  a 
year." 

"  Patience,  George  ;  something  will  turn  up.  You  will  find  a 
partnership  somewhere." 

"  My  child,  you  might  as  well  tell  Robinson  Crusoe  that  a 
boiled  leg  of  mutton,  with  caper-sauce,  is  going  to  turn  up  on  his 
desert  island.  We  must  not  hope  for  the  impossible.  I  ought 
to  be  grateful,  I  suppose,  considering  what  other  men  are  doing. 
I  am  planted  in  a  good,  solid  house.  It  won't  run  away,  so  long 
as  the  old  man  lives." 

"  And  after  that  ?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dering  is  seventy-five.     But  he  will  not  die  yet, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  33 

not  for  a  long  time  to  come.  He  is  made  of  granite ;  he'is  never 
ill ;  he  never  takes  a  holiday  ;  he  works  harder  than  any  of  his 
people,  and  he  keeps  longer  hours.  To  be  sure,  if  he  were  to 
die  without  taking  a  partner — well,  in  that  case,  there  would  be 
an  end  of  everything,  I  suppose.  Elsie,  here's  the  position." 
She  knew  it  already,  too  well  —  but  it  pleased  them  both  to 
parade  the  facts  as  if  they  were  something  quite  novel.  "  Let  ns 
face  it "  —  they  were  always  facing  it :  "I  am  managing  clerk 
to  Dcring  »k  Son  ;  I  get  two  hundred  pounds  a  year;  I  have  no 
prospect  of  anything  better;  I  am  bound  all  my  life  to  be  a  ser- 
vant. Elsie,  it  is  not  a  brilliant  prospect.  I  found  out  at  school 
that  it  was  best  not  to  be  too  ambitious.  But  a  servant  all  my 
life—  I  confess  that  did  not  enter  into  my  head.  If  I  knew  any 
other  trade  I  would  cut  the  whole  business.  If  there  was  any 
mortal  tiling  in  the  whole  world  by  which  I  could  keep  myself  I 
would  try  it.  But  there's  nothing.  I  have  but  one  trade.  I  can't 
write  novels  or  leading  articles;  I  can't  play  on  any  instrument; 
I  can't  paint  or  act  or  sing  or  anything — I  am  only  a  solicitor — 
that's  all.  Only  a  solicitor  who  can't  get  on— a  clerk,  Elsie.  No 
wonder  her  ladyship  turns  up  her  nose— a  clerk."  He  leaned  his 
chin  upon  his  hands  and  laughed  the  conventional  laugh  of  the 
young  man  down  on  his  luck. 

"  Poor  George  !"  she  sighed.  In  such  a  case  there  are  only 
two  words  of  consolation.  One  may  say,  "  Poor  George  !"  or  one 
may  say,  "  Patience !"  There  is  nothing  else  to  say.  Elsie  first 
tried  one  method  and  then  the  other,  as  a  doctor  tries  first  one 
remedy  and  then  another  when  Nature  sulks  and  refuses  to  get 

well. 

"  And,"  he  went  on,  piling  up  the  misery,  "  I  am  in  love  with 
the   sweetest  girl   in   the  whole  world,  and  she  is  in  love  with 

me !" 

"  Poor  George !"  she  repeated,  with  a  smile.  "  That  is,  indeed, 
a  dreadful  misfortune." 

"  I  am  wasting  your  youth,  Elsie,  as  well  as  my  own." 

"If  it  is  wasted  for  your  sake,  George,  it  is  well  spent.  Some 
day,  perhaps — " 

"  No — no — not  some  day — immediately — at  once."    The  young 
man  changed  color,  and  his  eyes  sparkled.     It  was  not  the  first 
time  that^he  had  advanced  this  revolutionary  proposal.      "  Let 
prudence  go  to  the — ' 
2** 


84  THE    IVORY    GATE 

*'  Not  there,  George — oh !  not  there.  To  the  winds,  perhaps, 
or  to  that  famous  city  of  Palestine.  But  not  there.  Wliy,  we 
might  never  get  her  back  again — poor  Prudence!  And  we  shall 
be  sure  to  want  her  all  our  lives — very  badly.  We  will,  if  you 
please,  ask  her  to  go  for  a  short  voyage  for  the  benefit  of  her 
health.  We  will  give  her  six  months'  leave  of  absence,  but  we 
shall  want  her  services  again  after  her  holiday,  if  you  think  we 
can  do  without  her  for  so  long." 

"  For  a  whole  twelvemonth,  Elsie.  Let  us  brave  everything, 
get  married  at  once,  live  in  a  garret,  and  have  a  splendid  time — 
for  a  whole  twelvemonth — on  my  two  hundred  pounds." 

"And  am  I  to  give  up  my  painting?" 

"  Well,  dear,  you  know  you  have  not  yet  had  a  commission 
from  anybody." 

"  llow  can  you  say  so,  George?  I  have  painted  you — and  my 
sister — and  my  mother — and  your  sisters.  I  am  sure  that  no 
studio,  even  of  an  R.  A.,  could  make  a  braver  show  of  work.  Well, 
I  will  give  it  up — until  Prudence  returns.  Is  it  to  be  a  garret? 
— a  real  garret,  with  sloping  walls,  where  you  can  only  stand  up- 
right in  the  middle?" 

"  We  call  it  a  garret.  It  will  take  the  form,  I  suppose,  of  a 
tiny  house  in  a  cheap  quarter.  It  will  have  six  rooms,  a  garden 
in  front  and  a  garden  behind.  The  rent  will  be  thirty  pounds. 
For  a  whole  twelvemonth  it  will  be  a  real  slice  of  Eden,  Elsie, 
and  you  shall  be  Eve." 

Elsie  laughed.  "It  will  be  great  fun.  We  will  make  the  Eden 
last  longer  than  a  twelvemonth.  I  dare  say  I  shall  like  it.  Of 
course  I  shall  have  to  do  everythmg  for  myself.  To  clean  the 
doorsteps  will  be  equivalent  to  taking  exercise  in  the  fresh  air;  to 
sweep  the  floors  will  be  a  kind  of  afternoon  dance  or  a  game  of 
lawn-tennis;  to  wash  up  the  cups  and  saucers  will  be  only  a 
change  of  amusement.  There  is  one  thing,  George — one  thing" 
— she  became  very  serious — "  I  suppose  you  never — did  you  ever 
witness  the  scouring  of  a  frying-pan?  I  don't  think  I  could  do 
that.  And  did  you  ever  see  beefsteaks  before  they  are  cooked? 
They  suggest  the  animal  in  the  most  terrible  way.  I  don't  really 
think  I  could  handle  those  bleeding  lumps." 

"You  sha'n't  touch  a  frying-pan,  and  we  will  have  nothing 
roasted  or  fried.  We  will  live  on  cold  Australian  beef,  eaten  out 
of  its  native  tin ;  the  potatoes  shall  be  boiled  in  their  skins. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  35 

And  perhaps — I  don't  know — with  two  hundred  pounds  a  year 
we  could  atford  a  servant — a  very  little  one — just  a  girl  warranted 
not  to  cat  too  ninch." 

"What  shall  we  do  when  our  clothes  are  worn  out?" 

"The  little  maid  shall  make  some  more  for  you,  I  suppose. 
We  certainly  shall  not  be  able  to  buy  new  tilings — not  nice 
things,  that  is — and  you  must  have  nice  things,  mustn't  you?" 

"  I  do  like  things  to  be  nice,"  she  replied,  smoothing  her  dainty 
skirts  with  her  dainty  hand.  "George,  where  shall  we  find  this 
house — formerly  Eve's  own  country  villa  before  she — resigned  her 
tenancy,  you  know  ?" 

"There  are  places  in  London  where  whole  streets  are  filled  with 
families  living  on  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year.  Checkley 
— the  chief's  private  clerk — lives  in  such  a  place;  he  told  me  so 
himself.  He  says  there  is  nobody  in  his  parish  who  has  got  a 
bigger  income  than  himself;  he's  a  little  king  among  them  be- 
cause he  gets  four  hundred  pounds  a  year,  besides  what  he  has 
saved — which  is  enormous  piles,  Elsie,  my  dear,  we  must  give 
up  our  present  surroundings,  and  take  up  with  gentility  in  its 
cheapest  form." 

"Can  we  not  go  on  living  among  our  own  friends?" 

George  shook  his  head  wisely.  "  Impossible.  Friendship 
means  equality  of  income.  You  can't  live  with  people  unless  you 
do  as  they  do.  People  of  the  same  means*  naturally  live  together. 
Next  door  to  Lady  Dering  is  another  rich  madam,  not  a  clerk's 
wife.  For  my  own  part,  I  shall  sell  my  dress  clothes  for  what  they 
will  fetch — you  can  exchange  your  evening  things  for  morning 
things.  That  won't  matter  much.  Who  cares  where  we  live,  or 
bow  we  live,  so  that  we  live  together?  What  do  you  sav,  Elsie, 
dear?" 

"The  garret  I  don't  mind — nor  the  doorsteps — and  since  you 
sec  your  way  out  of  the  difficulty  of  the  frying-pan — " 

"  You  will  be  of  age  next  week,  when  you  can  please  yourself." 

"  Hilda  gives  me  no  peace  or  rest.  She  says  there  can  be  no 
happiness  without  money.  She  has  persuaded  my  mother  that 
1  am  going  to  certain  starvation.  She  promises  the  most  splendid 
establishment  if  I  will  only  be  guided  by  her." 

"And  marry  a  man  fifty  years  older  than  yourself,  with  one 
foot  already  well  in — " 

"  She  says  she  has  always  been  perfectly  happy.    Well,  George, 


36  THE    IVORY    GATE 

you  know  all  that.  Next  Wednesday,  which  is  my  birthday,  I 
am  to  have  a  c;rand  talk  with  my  guardian.  My  mother  hopes 
that  he  will  bring  me  to  my  senses.  Hilda  says  that  she  trusts 
entirely  to  Mr.  Bering's  good  sense.  I  shall  arm  myself  with  all 
my  obstinacy.  Perhaps,  George — who  knows? — I  may  persuade 
him  to  advance  your  salary." 

"  No,  Elsie.  Not  even  you  would  persuade  Mr.  Dering  to  give 
a  managing  clerk  more  than  two  hundred  pounds  a  year.  But 
don't  forget  any  piece  of  that  armor,  child.  The  breastplate — 
there  was  a  poor  damsel  once  who  forgot  that,  and  was  caught  by 
an  appeal  to  her  heart;  nor  the  helmet — another  poor  damsel  was 
once  caught  by  an  appeal  to  her  reason  after  forgetting  the  hel- 
met. The  shield,  of  course,  you  will  not  forget;  and  for  weap- 
ons, my  dear,  take  your  sweet  eyes  and  your  lovely  face  and  your 
winning  voice,  and  I  swear  that  you  will  subdue  even  Mr.  Dering 
himself — that  hardened  old  parchment." 

This  was  the  kind  of  talk  which  these  lovers  held  together 
whenever  they  met.  George  was  poor — the  son  of  a  clergyman, 
whose  power  of  advancing  him  ceased  when  he  had  paid  the  fees 
for  admission.  He  was  only  a  clerk,  and  he  saw  no  chance  of  be- 
ing anything  else  but  a  clerk.  Elsie  could  bring  nothing  to  the 
family  nest,  unless  her  mother  made  her  an  allowance.  Of  this 
there  could  be  no  hope.  The  engagement  was  considered  de- 
plorable; marriage,  under  the  circumstances,  simple  madness. 
And  Hilda  had  done  so  well  for  herself,  and  could  do  so  much 
for  a  sister  so  pretty,  so  bright  as  Elsie!  Oh  !  she  was  throwing 
away  all  her  chances.  Did  one  ever  hear  of  anything  so  lament- 
able? No  regard  for  the  family  ;  no  ambition  ;  no  sense  of  what 
a  girl  owes  to  herself ;  no  recognition  or  gratitude  for  the  gift  of 
good  looks — as  if  beauty  were  given  for  the  mere  purpose  of 
pleasing  a  penniless  lover!  And  to  go  and  throw  herself  away 
upon  a  twopenny  lawyer's  clerk  ! 

"George,"  she  said,  seriously,  "I  have  thought  it  all  out.  If 
you  really  mean  it — if  you  really  can  face  poverty — mind,  it  is 
harder — much — for  a  man  than  for  a  woman — " 

"  I  can  face  everything — with  you,  Elsie,"  replied  the  lover. 
Would  he  have  been  a  lover  worth  having  if  he  had  not  made 
that  answer?     And,  indeed,  he  meant  it,  as  every  lover  should. 

"  Then — George — what  in  the  whole  world  is  there  for  me 
unless  I  can  make  my  dear  boy  happy  ?    I  will  marry  you  as  soon 


THE    IVORY    GATE  37 

as  you  please — rich  or  poor,  for  belter  or  worse — whatever  they 
may  say  at  home.     "Will  tiiat  do  for  you,  George?" 

Since  man  is  so  constituted  that  his  happiness  wholly  depends 
upon  the  devotion  of  a  woman,  I  believe  that  no  dear  boy  ever 
had  a  better  chance  of  happiness  than  George  Austin — only  a 
managing  clerk — with  his  Elsie.  And  so  this  history  begins 
where  many  end,  with  an  engagement. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN    THE    OFFICE 

"  I'll  take  in  your  ladyship's  name.  There  is  no  one  with  him 
at  this  moment.  Oh,  yes,  my  lady,"  Checklcy  smiled  superior. 
"We  are  always  busy.  We  have  been  busy  in  this  office  for  fifty 
years  and  more.  But  I  am  sure  Iie'll  see  you.  Take  a  chair,  my 
lady.     Allow  me." 

Checkley,  the  old  clerk,  had  other  and  younger  clerks  with 
him  ;  but  lie  kept  in  his  own  hands  the  duty  or  the  privilege  of 
going  to  the  private  room  of  the  chief.  Ue  was  sixty-seven  when 
last  we  saw  him.  Therefore,  he  was  now  seventy-five — a  little 
more  bent  in  the  shoulders,  a  little  more  feeble,  otherwise  unal- 
tered. In  age  we  either  shrivel  or  we  swell.  Those  live  the 
longest  who  shrivel ;  and  those  who  shrivel  presently  reach  a 
point  when  they  cease  to  shrink  any  more  till  they  reach  the 
ninetieth  year.  Checkley  was  bowed  and  bent  and  lean ;  his  face 
was  lined  multitudinously ;  his  cheeks  were  shrunken,  but  not 
more  so  than  eight  years  before.  He  wrote  down  the  name  of 
the  caller — Lady  Dering — on  a  square  piece  of  paper,  and  opened 
the  door  with  an  affectation  of  extreme  care  not  to  disturb  the 
chief's  nerves  by  a  sharp  turn  of  the  handle,  stepped  in  as  if  it 
were  most  important  that  no  one  should  be  able  to  peep  into  the 
room,  and  closed  the  door  softly  behind  iiim.  Immediately  he 
reappeared,  and  held  the  door  wide  open,  inviting  the  lady  to  step 
in.  She  was  young,  of  good  stature  and  figure,  extremely  hand- 
some in  face — of  what  is  called  the  classical  type,  and  very  richly 
dressed.  Her  carriage  might  have  been  seen,  on  looking  out  of 
the  window,  waiting  in  the  square. 


38  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  Lady  Derins^,  sir,"  said  Checkley.  Then  he  swiftly  vanished, 
closing  the  door  softly  behind  him. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Hilda."  The  old  lawyer  rose,  tall  and 
commanding,  and  bowed,  offering  his  hand  with  a  stately  and 
old-fashioned  courtesy  which  made  ladies  condone  his  unmarried 
condition.  "Why  have  you  called  this  morning?  You  are  not 
come  on  any  business,  I  trust.  Business  with  ladies  who  have 
wealthy  husbands  generally  means  trouble  of  some  kind.  You 
arc  not,  for  instance,  in  debt  witii  your  dress-maker?" 

"No — no.  Sir  Samuel  does  not  allow  of  any  difficulties  or 
awkwardness  of  that  kind.  It  is  not  about  myself  that  I  am 
here,  but  about  my  sister  Elsie." 

"Yes?     What  about  her?     Sit  down,  and  let  me  hear." 

"  Wx'll,  you  know,  Elsie  lias  always  been  a  trouble  to  us  on 
account  of  her  headstrong  and  wilful  ways.  She  will  not  look  on 
things  from  a  reasonable  point  of  view.  You  know  that  my 
mother  is  not  rich,  as  I  have  learned  to  consider  rich,  though,  of 
course,  she  has  enough  for  a  simple  life  and  a  man-servant  and  a 
one-horse  brougham.  Do  you  know,"  she  added  pensively,  "  I 
have  often  found  it  difficult  not  to  repine  at  a  Providence  which 
removes  a  father  when  he  was  beginning  so  well,  and  actually  on 
the  high-road  to  a  great  fortune." 

"  It  is  certainly  difficult  to  understand  the  wisdom  of  these 
disappointments  and  disasters.  We  must  accept,  Hilda,  what  we 
cannot  escape  or  explain." 

"Yes — and  my  mother  had  nothing  but  a  poor  thousand  a 
year! — though  I  am  sure  that  she  has  greatly  bettered  her  cir- 
cumstances by  lier  transactions  in  the  City.  Well — I  have  done 
all  I  can,  by  precept  and  by  example,  to  turn  my  sister's  mind 
into  the  right  direction.  Mr.  Dering" — by  long  habit  Hilda  still 
called  her  guardian,  now  her  brother-in-law,  by  his  surname — 
"  you  would  hardly  believe  the  folly  that  Elsie  talks  about 
money." 

"  Perhaps  because  she  has  none.  Those  who  have  no  property 
do  not  understand  it.  Young  people  do  not  know  what  it  means 
or  what  it  commands.  And  whether  they  have  it  or  not  young 
people  do  not  know  what  the  acquisition  of  property  means — the 
industry,  the  watchfulness,  the  carefulness,  the  self-denial.  So 
Elsie  talks  folly  about  money — well,  well" — he  smiled  indulg- 
ently— "  we  shall  see." 


THE    IVORV    GATE 


39 


"  It  is  not  only  that  she  talks,  but  she  acts.     Mr.  Dering,  we 
are  in  despair  about  her.     You  know  the  Rodings  T' 

"  Roding  Brothers  ?  Everybody  knows  Roding  ]3rothcrs." 
"Al'i-y  Roding,  the  eldest  son  of  the  senior  partner— enor- 
mously''rich— is  gone— quite  gone— foolish  about  Elsie.  He  has 
been  at  me  a  dozen  times  about  her.  He  has  called  at  the  house 
to  see  her.  lie  cares  nothing  at  all  about  her  having  no  money. 
She  refuses  even  to  hear  his  name  mentioned.  Between  our- 
selves, he  has  not  been,  I  believe,  a  very  steady  young  man  ;  but, 
of  course,  he  would  settle  down  ;  we  could  entirely  trust  to  a 
wife's  influence  in  that  respect;  the  past  could  easily  be  forgotten 
—in  fact,  Elsie  need  never  know  it;  and  the  position  would  be 
splendid.  Even  mine  would  not  compare  with  it." 
"  Why  does  she  object  to  the  man  ?" 

"Says  he  is  an  ugly  little  snob.  There  is  a  becoming  spirit  for 
a  girl  to  receive  so  rich  a  lover!  But  that  is  not  all.  She  might 
ha°e  him  if  she  chose,  snob  or  not,  but  she  prefers  one  of  your 
clerks— actually,  Mr.  Dering,  one  of  your  clerks." 

"  I  have  learned  something  of  this  from  your  mother.     She  is 

engaged,  I  am  told,  to  young  Austin,  one  of  my  managing  clerks." 

"  Whose  income  is  two  hundred  pounds  a  year.     Oh  !  think  of 

it!     She  refuses  a  man  with  ten  thousand  a  year  at  the  very  least, 

and  wants  to  marry  a  man  with  two  hundred." 

"  I  suppose  they  do  not  propose  to  marry  on  this— this  pit- 
tance— this  two  hundred  a  year?" 

"  They  arc  engaged ;  she  refuses  to  break  it  off ;  he  has  no 
money  to  buy  a  partnership ;  he  must,  therefore,  continue  a  clerk 
on  two  hundred." 

"Managing  clerks  get  more,  sometimes;  but,  to  be  sure,  the 
position  is  not  good,  and  the  income  must  always  be  small." 

"  My  mother  will  not  allow  the  man  in  the  house.  Elsie  goes 
out  to  meet  him  ;  oh  1  it  is  most  irregular.  I  should  be  ashamed 
for  Sir  Samuel  to  know  it.  She  actually  goes  out  of  the  house 
every  evening,  and  they  walk  about  the  square  garden  or  in  the 
Park  till  dark.  It  is  exactly  like  a  housemaid  going  out  to  meet 
her  young  man." 

"  It  does  seem  an  unusual  course,  but  I  am  no  judge  of  what 
is  becoming  to  a  young  lady." 

t»^\'ell — she  needn't  go  on  like  a  housemaid,"  said  her  sister. 
"  Of  course  the  position  of  things  at  home  is  strained,  and  I  don't 


40  THE    IVORY    GATE 

know  what  may  happen  at  any  moment.  Elsie  says  tliat  she 
shall  be  twenty-one  next  week,  and  that  she  means  to  act  on  her 
own  judgment.  She  even  talks  of  setting  up  a  studio  somewhere, 
and  painting  portraits  for  money.  That  is  a  pleasant  thing  for 
me  to  contemplate — my  own  sister  earning  her  own  living  by 
painting  1" 

"How  do  you  think  I  can  interfere  in  the  matter?  Lovers' 
quarrels  or  lovers'  difficulties  are  not  made  or  settled  in  this 
room." 

"  Mr.  Dcring,  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  of  wliom  she  is 
afraid  except  yourself.  There  is  no  one  of  whose  opinion  she 
thinks  so  much.  Will  you  see  her?  Will  you  talk  with  her? 
Will  you  admonish  her?" 

"  Why,  Hilda,  it  so  happens  that  I  have  already  invited  her  to 
call  upon  me  on  her  birthday,  when  she  ceases  to  be  my  ward. 
I  will  talk  to  her  if  you  please.  Perhaps  you  may  be  satisfied 
with  the  result  of  my  conversation." 

"  I  shall— I  am  sure  I  shall." 

"  Let  me  understand.  You  desire  that  your  sister  shall  marry 
a  man  who,  if  he  is  not  already  rich,  should  be  at  least  on  the 
high-road  to  wealth.  You  cannot  force  her  to  accept  even  the 
richest  young  man  in  London  unless  she  likes  him,  can  you?" 

*'  No,  certainly  not.  And  we  can  hardly  expect  her  to  marry, 
as  I  did  myself,  a  man  whose  wealth  is  already  established.  Un- 
less she  would  take  Algy  Roding." 

"  Very  good.  But  he  must  have  a  certain  income,  so  as  to 
insure  the  means  of  an  establishment  conducted  at  a  certain 
level?" 

"  Yes.  She  need  not  live  in  Palace  Gardens,  but  she  ought  to 
be  able  to  live — say  in  Pembridge  Square." 

"  Quite  so.  I  suppose  with  an  income  of  fifteen  hundred  or 
so  to  begin  with?  If  I  make  her  understand  that,  you  will  be 
satisfied  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  My  dear  Mr.  Dering,  I  really  believe  you  have 
got  the  very  young  man  up  your  sleeve.  But  how  will  you  per- 
suade her  to  give  up  the  present  intruder?" 

*'  I  promise  nothing,  Hilda — I  promise  nothing.  I  will  do  my 
best,  however." 

Hilda  rose,  and  swept  back  her  dress. 

"I  feel  an  immense  sense  of  relief,"  she   said.     "The  dear 


THE    IVORV    GATE 


41 


child's  happiness  is  all  I  desire.  Perhaps  if  you  were  to  dismiss 
the  yoiini,'  man  immediHtely,  with  ignominy,  and  were  to  refuse 
him 'a  wrrtten  character  on  the  ground  of  trying  to  win  the  affec- 
tions of  a  girl  infinitely  above  him  in  station,  it  might  produce  a 
good  effect  on  Elsie— showing  what  you  think  of  it — as  well  as 
an  excellent  lesson  for  himself  and  his  friends.  There  is  no 
romance  about  a  cast-off  clerk.  Will  you  think  of  this,  Mr. 
Dering?  The  mere  threat  of  such  a  thing  might  make  him 
ready  to  give  her  up;  and  it  might  make  her  inclined,  for  his 
own  sake,  to  send  him  about  his  business." 

"  I  will  think  of  it,  Hilda.  By  the  way,  will  you  and  my 
brother  dine  with  me  on  Monday,  unless  you  are  engaged?  We 
can  talk  over  tliis  little  affair  then  at  leisure." 

"  With  pleasure.  We  are  only  engaged  for  the  evening.  Now 
I  won't  keep  you  any  longer.     Good-by." 

She  walked  away,  smiling  graciously  on  the  clerks  in  the  outer 
cflSce,  and  descended  the  stairs  to  the  carriage,  which  waited 
below. 

Mr.  Dering  returned  to  his  papers.  He  was  not  changed  in 
the  eight  years  since  the  stormy  interview  with  this  young  lady's 
brother— his  small  whiskers  were  a  little  whiter;  his  iron-gray 
hair  was  unchanged  ;  his  lips  were  as  firm  and  his  nostrils  as 
sharp,  his  eyes  as  keen  as  then. 

The  room  looked  out  pleasantly  upon  the  garden  of  New 
Square,  where  the  sunshine  lay  warm  upon  the  trees  with  their 
early  summer  leaves.  Sunshine  or  rain,  all  the  year  round,  the 
solicitor  sat  in  his  high-backed  chair  before  his  great  table.  lie 
sat  there  this  morning,  working  steadily  until  he  had  got  through 
what  he  was  about.  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  past 
two  o'clock.  He  touched  a  bell  on  the  table,  and  his  old  clerk 
came  in. 

Though  he  was  the  same  age  as  his  master,  Checkley  looked  a 
great  deal  older.  He  was  bald,  save  for  a  small  white  patch  over 
each  ear.  He  was  bent,  and  his  hands  trembkJ.  His  expression 
was  sharp,  foxy,  and  suspicious.  He  stood  in  the  unmistakable 
attitude  of  a  servant,  hands  hanging  in  readiness,  head  a  little  bent. 
"  The  clerks  are  all  gone,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Mr.  Dering. 
"  All  gone.  All  they  think  about  when  they  come  in  the 
morning  is  how  soon  they  will  get  away.  As  for  any  pride  in 
their  work,  they  haven't  got  it." 


42  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  Let  tbem  go.  Cbcckloy,  I  have  wanted  to  speak  to  you  for 
some  time." 

"Anything  the  matter?"  The  old  clerk  spoke  with  the  famil- 
iarity of  long  service,  which  permits  the  expression  of  opinions. 

"  The  time  has  come,  Checkley,  when  we  must  make  a  change." 

"A  change?  Why,  I  do  my  work  as  well  as  ever  I  did — 
better  than  any  of  the  yonnger  men.     A  change?" 

"The  change  will  not  affect  you." 

"It  must  be  for  you,  then.  Surely  you're  never  going  to 
retire !" 

"No — I  mean  to  hold  on  as  long  as  I  can.  That  will  only  be 
for  a  year  or  two  at  most.     I  am  seventy-five,  Checkley," 

"What  of  that?  So  am  I.  You  don't  find  me  grumbling 
about  my  work,  do  you  ?  Besides,  you  eat  hearty.  Your  health 
is  good." 

"Yes,  my  health  is  good.  But  I  am  troubled  of  late,  Check- 
ley — I  am  troubled  about  my  memory." 

"  So  is  many  a  younger  man,"  returned  the  clerk  stoutly. 

"Sometimes  I  cannot  remember  in  the  morning  what  I  was 
doing  the  evening  before." 

"That's  nothing — nothing  at  all." 

"  Yesterday  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  found  that  I  had  been 
unconscious  for  three  hours." 

"You  were  asleep.  I  came  in,  and  saw  you  sound  asleep." 
It  was  not  true,  but  the  clerk's  intentions  were  good. 

"To  go  asleep  in  the  morning  argues  a  certain  decay  of 
strength.  Yet  I  believe  that  I  get  through  the  work  as  well  as 
ever.  The  clients  do  not  drop  off,  Checkley  ?  There  is  no  sign 
of  mistrust — eh?     No  suspicion  of  failing  powers?" 

"  They  think  more  of  you  than  ever." 

"  I  believe  they  do,  Checkley." 

"  Everybody  says  you  are  the  top  of  the  profession." 

"I  believe  I  am,  Checkley — I  believe  I  am.  Certainly,  I  am 
the  oldest.  Nevertheless,  seventy-five  is  a  great  age  to  be  con- 
tinuing work.     Things  can't  last  much  longer." 

"  Some  men  go  on  to  eighty,  and  even  ninety." 

"  A  few — a  few  only,"  the  lawyer  sighed.  "  One  may  hope,  but 
must  not  build  upon  the  chance  of  such  merciful  prolongation. 
The  older  I  grow,  Checkley,  the  more  I  enjoy  life,  especially  the 
only  thing  that  has  ever  made  life  happy  for  me — this  work.     I 


THE    IVORY    GATE  43 

cling  to  it  " — he  spread  bis  hands  over  the  papers — "  I  cling  to  it. 
I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  leaving  it." 

"  That — and  your  savings,"  echoed  the  clerk. 

"It  seems  as  if  I  should  be  content  to  go  on  for  a  lumdred 
years  more  at  the  work  of  which  I  am  never  tired.  And  I  must 
leave  it  before  long — in  a  year — two  years — who  knows?  Life 
is  miserably  short — one  has  no  time  for  half  the  things  one 
would  like  to  do.  Well " — he  heaved  a  deep  sigh — "  let  us  work 
while  we  can.  However,  it  is  better  to  climb  down  than  to  be 
pulled  down  or  shot  down.  I  am  going  to  make  preparations, 
Checklcy,  for  the  end." 

"What  preparations?  You're  not  going  to  send  for  the  min- 
ister, are  you?" 

"  No.  Not  that  kind  of  preparation.  Nor  for  the  doctor 
either.  Nor  for  a  lawyer  to  make  my  will.  All  those  things 
are  duly  attended  to.  I  have  resolved,  Ciicckley,  upon  taking  a 
partner." 

"  Vou  take  a  partner?     You^     At  your  time  of  life?" 

"  I  am  going  to  take  a  partner.  And  you  are  the  first  person 
who  has  been  told  of  my  intention.  Keep  it  a  secret  for  the 
moment." 

"Take  a  partner?     Divide  your  beautiful  income  by  two?" 

"  Yes,  Checkley.  I  am  going  to  give  a  share  in  that  beautiful 
income  to  a  young  man." 

"  What  can  a  partner  do  for  you  that  I  can't  do  ?  Don't  I 
know  the  whole  of  the  office  work?  Is  there  any  partner  in  the 
world  who  can  draw  up  a  conveyance  better  than  me?" 

"You  are  very  useful,  Checkley,  as  you  always  have  been. 
But  you  arc  not  a  partner,  and  you  never  can  be." 

"  I  know  that  very  well.  But  what's  the  good  of  a  partner 
at  all  ?" 

"  If  I  have  a  partner  he  will  have  his  own  room,  and  he  won't 
interfere  with  you.     There's  no  occasion  for  you  to  be  jealous." 

"  As  for  jealous — well — after  more  than  si.xty  years'  work  in 
this  office  it  would  seem  hard  to  be  turned  out  by  some  new- 
comer.    But  what  I  say  is — what  is  the  good  of  a  partner?" 

"The  chief  good  is  that  the  house  will  be  carried  on.  It  is 
a  hundred  and  twenty  years  old.  I  confess  I  do  not  like  the 
thought  of  its  coming  to  an  end  when  I  disappear.  That  will 
be  to  me  the  most  important  advantage  to  be  gained  by  taking  a 


44  THE    IVORY    GATE 

partner.  The  next  advantai^e  will  be  that  I  can  turn  over  to  him 
a  quantity  of  work.  And,  thirdly,  he  will  bring  young  blood  and 
new  connections.  My  mind  is  quite  made  up,  Checkley.  I  am 
going  to  take  a  partner." 

"  Have  you  found  one  yet  ?" 

"  I  have.  But  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  who  he  is  till  the 
right  time  comes." 

Checkley  grumbled  inaudibly. 

"If  I  had  been  less  busy,"  Mr.  Bering  went  on,  "I  might 
have  married,  and  had  sons  of  my  own  to  put  into  the  house. 
But  somehow,  being  very  much  occupied  always,  and  never 
thinking  about  such  things,  I  let  the  time  pass  by.  I  was  never, 
even  as  a  young  man,  greatly  attracted  to  love  or  to  young  wom- 
en. Their  charms,  such  as  they  are,  seem  to  mo  to  depend  upon 
nothing  but  a  single  garment." 

"  Take  away  their  frocks,"  said  Checkley,  "  and  what  are  they  ? 
All  alike — all  alike — I've  been  married  myself — women  are  ex- 
pensive frauds." 

"  Well — things  being  as  they  are,  Checkley,  I  am  going  to  take 
a  partner." 

"  You'll  do  as  you  like,"  said  bis  servant.  "  Mark  my  words, 
however — you've  got  ten  years  more  of  work  in  you  yet,  and  all 
through  these  ten  years  you'll  regret  having  a  partner.  Out  of 
every  hundred  pounds  his  share  will  have  to  come.  Think  of 
that!" 

"  It  is  eight  years,  I  remember,"  Mr.  Bering  went  on,  "  since 
first  I  thought  of  taking  a  partner.  Eight  years — and  for  much 
the  same  reason  as  now.  I  found  my  memory  going.  There 
were  gaps  in  it — days,  or  bits  of  days — which  I  could  not  recol- 
lect. I  was  greatly  terrified.  The  man  whom  I  first  thought  of 
for  partner  was  that  young  Arundel,  now — " 

"  AVho  forged  your  name.     Lucky  you  didn't  have  him." 

"  ^Yho  ran  away  in  a  rage  because  certain  circumstances 
seemed  to  connect  him  with  the  crime." 

"Seemed?     Did  connect  him." 

"Then  the  symptoms  disappeared.  Now  they  have  returned, 
as  I  told  you.  I  have  always  regretted  the  loss  of  young  Arun- 
del.    He  was  clever  and  a  quick  worker." 

"  He  was  a  forger,"  said  the  clerk  stoutly.  "  Is  there  anything 
more  I  can  do  for  vou  V 


THE    IVORY    GATE  46 

"  Nothing  ;  tliank  you." 

"  Then  I'll  go.  On  Saturday  afternoon  I  collect  my  little  rents. 
Not  much  in  your  way  of  thinking — a  good  deal  to  me.  I  hope 
you'll  like  your  partner  when  you  do  get  him.  I  hope  I  sha'n't 
live  to  see  hiui  the  master  here  and  you  knuckling  under.  I  hope 
I  sha'n't  see  him  driving  away  the  clients." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  see  any  of  these  distressing  consequences, 
Checkley.     Good-day." 

The  old  clerk  went  away,  shutting  the  outer  door  after  him. 
Then  the  lawyer  was  the  sole  occupant  of  the  rooms,  lie  was 
also  the  sole  occupant  of  the  whole  liouse,  and  perhaps  of  the 
whole  square.     It  was  three  o'clock. 

He  sat  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  looking  through  the  open 
window  upon  the  trees  in  the  square  garden.  Presently  there 
fell  upon  his  face  a  curious  change.  It  was  as  if  the  whole  of  the 
intelligence  was  taken  out  of  it ;  his  eyes  gazed  steadily  into 
space,  with  no  expression  whatever  in  them  ;  liis  lips  slightly 
parted ;  his  head  fell  back ;  the  soul  and  spirit  of  the  man  had 
gone  out  of  him,  leaving  a  machine  which  breathed. 

The  watch  in  his  pocket  ticked  audibly — there  was  no  other 
sound  in  the  room  ;  the  old  man  sat  quite  motionless. 

Four  o'clock  struck  from  the  clock  tower  in  the  high  court  of 
justice,  from  St.  Clement's  Church,  from  Westminster,  from  half 
a  dozen  clocks  which  could  be  heard  in  the  quiet  of  the  Saturday 
afternoon.     But  Mr.  Dcriiig  heard  nothing. 

Still  he  sat  in  his  place  with  idle  hands,  and  a  face  like  a  mask 
for  lack  of  thought. 

The  clocks  struck  five. 

lie  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

The  clocks  struck  six — seven- — eight. 

The  shades  of  evening  began  to  gather  in  the  corners  of  the 
room  as  the  sun  sank  lower  towards  his  setting.  At  twilight  in 
the  summer  there  is  never  anybody  to  fear — man,  woman,  or  cat 
— in  the  chambers,  and  at  that  hour  the  mice  come  out.  They 
do  not  cat  parchment  or  foolscap  or  red  tape,  but  they  eat  the 
luncheon  crumbs.  Mr.  Checkley,  for  instance,  always  brought  his 
dinner  in  a  paper  parcel  in  his  coat-tail  pocket,  and  ate  it  when 
so  disposed,  sprinkling  crumbs  lavishly  —  the  only  lavishment  of 
which  he  was  ever  guilty  —  on  the  floor.  Junior  clerks  brought 
buns  and  biscuits,  or  even  apples,  which  they  devoured  furtively. 


46  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Mr.  Deling  liimsclf  took  his  luncheon  in  liis  own  room,  leaving 
crumbs.  There  was  plenty  for  a  small  colony  of  mice.  They 
came  out,  therefore,  as  usual ;  they  stopped  at  sight  of  a  man,  an 
unwonted  man,  in  a  chair.  But  he  moved  not;  he  was  asleep; 
he  was  dead ;  they  ran  without  fear  all  about  the  rooms. 

It  was  past  nine,  when  the  chambers  were  as  dark  as  at  this  sea- 
son of  the  year  they  ever  are,  that  Mr.  Dering  returned  to  con- 
sciousness. 

He  sat  up,  staring  about  him.  The  room  was  dark.  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  Half-past  nine.  "  What  is  this  ?"  he  asked.  "  Have 
I  been  asleep  for  seven  hours?  Seven  hours?  I  was  not  asleep 
when  Chccklcy  went  away.  Why  did  I  fall  asleep  ?  I  feel  as  if 
1  had  been  somewhere — doing  something.  What?  I  cannot  re- 
member. This  strange  sensation  comes  oftcner.  It  is  time  tiiat 
I  should  take  a  partner  before  something  worse  happens.  I  am 
old — I  am  old."  He  rose,  and  walked  across  the  room  erect  and 
with  firm  step.  "  I  am  old  and  worn-out  and  spent.  Time  to 
give  up  the  keys — old  and  spent." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    SELECT    CIKCLE 


At  lialf-past  nine  on  this  Saturday  evening  the  parlor  of  the 
Salutation  Inn,  High  Holborn,  contained  most  of  its  customary 
visitors.  They  came  every  evening  at  eight ;  they  sat  till  eleven, 
drinking  and  talking.  In  former  days  every  tavern  of  repute 
kept  sucli  a  room  for  the  select  circle — a  club,  or  society,  of  hab- 
itues, who  met  every  evening  for  a  pipe  and  a  cheerful  glass.  In 
this  way  all  respectable  burgesses,  down  to  fifty  years  ago,  spent 
their  evenings.  Strangers  might  enter  the  i-oom,  but  they  were 
made  to  feel  that  they  were  there  on  sufferance  ;  they  were  re- 
ceived with  distance  and  suspicion.  Most  of  the  regular  visitors 
knew  each  other;  when  they  did  not,  it  was  tavern  politeness  not 
to  ask.  A  case  is  on  record  of  four  cronies,  who  used  the  Cock  in 
Fleet  Street  for  thirty  years,  no  one  of  them  knowing  either  the  name 
or  the  trade  of  the  other  three — yet  when  one  died  the  other  three 
pined  away.    This  good  old  custom  is  now  decayed.    The  respect- 


47 
THE    IVORY    GATE 


able  burgess  stays  at  homo,  ^vbich  is  much  more  n.onotonous. 
Yet  tbcve  may  still  be  found  a  parlor  hero  and  there  ^vlth  a  soci- 
etv  meeting  every  evening  all  the  year  round. 

The  parlor  of  the  Salutation  was  a  good-sized  room,  wainscoted 
and  provided  with  a  sanded  floor.  It  was  furnished  with  a  dozen 
^.ooden  chairs  and  three  small  round  tables,  the  chairs  disposed  in 
a  circle  so  as  to  prevent  corners  or  cliques  in  conversation^  Sacred 
is  Uie  fraternit'  liberty,  and  equality  of  the  parlor.  The  room 
^vas  low,  and  in  the  evenings  always  hot  with  its  two  flaming,  un- 
protected cas-iets;  the  window  was  never  opened,  except  in  the 
Clt  and\he;e  was  always  present  a  rich  perfume  of  tobacco^ 
beer,  and  spirits,  both  that  anciently  generated  and  that  of  the 

day's  creation.  <■       i    „ 

Amonc.  the  frequenters -who  were,  it  must  be  confessed    a 
somewhal  faded  or  decayed  company-was  to  put  him  first   be- 
cause he  was  the  richest,  the  great  Mr.  Robert  He  Iyer,  of  Bar- 
nard's Inn,  usurer  or  money-lender.     Nobody  quite  likes  the  pro- 
fession-one knows  not  why.     Great  fortunes  have  been  made   n 
t ;  the  same  fortunes  have  been  dissipated  by  t^«  ™«-r'-^^^^^^ 
heirs.     Such  fortunes  do  not  stick,  somehow.     Mr   Hellyer   fo 
instance,  was  reputed  wealthy  beyond  the  dreams  of  the  wildest 
desire.     It  was  also  said  of  him,  under  breath  and  in  whispers 
and  envious  murmurs,  that,  should  a  man  borrow  a  five-pound  note 
of  him  that  borrower  would  count  himself  lucky  if  he  escaped 
with  the  loss  of  seventy-five,  and  might  generally  expect  to  lose 
the  whole  of  his  household  furniture  and  the  half  of  his  income 
for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life.     To  be  sure,  he  sometimes  had 
losses,  as  he  said  himself,  with  a  groan--as  when  an  "nscrupiilous 
client  jumped  off  the  Embankment  when  he  had  not  paid  mo  c 
than  fi  ty  pounds  on  the  original  five  ;  or  when  a  wicked  man  sold 
ofi  his  /ur'niture  secretly,  in  contempt  of  the  b  1  of  sale,  and  go 
clean  out  of  the  country  witli  his  wife  and  children.     But   on    he 
whole,  he  did  pretty  well.    It  was  further  said,  by  old  ch  n  .  t^iat 
his  heart  was  a  simple  piece  of  round  granite   for  which  he  had 
no  use,  and  that  he  made  money  out  of  it  by  letting  it  out  at  so 
much  an  hour  for  a  paving  mallet.  ,       r  i  ,,  „ 

Mr    Robert  Uellvcr  was  not  a  genial  man  or  a  cheerful  or  a 
pleasant  man  to  look  upon  ;  he  neither  loved  nor  <^ornvrohoude^. 
est;  he  never  smiled ;  he  kept  his  mind  always  employed  on  tin. 
ionduct  of  his  business.     Every  night-forgive  the  solitary  weak- 


48  THE    IVORY    GATE 

ness — he  drank  as  much  as  he  could  carry.  In  appearance  he 
was  red-faced,  thick-necked,  and  stout ;  his  voice  was  thick  even 
in  the  morning,  wlicn  he  was  under  no  compulsion  to  thickness. 
It  was  believed  by  his  friends  that  his  education  had  been  imper- 
fect; this  was  because  lie  never  gave  anybody  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  had  ever  received  any  education  at  all.  To  such  men  as 
Mr.  Ilellyer,  who  every  night  take  much  strong  drink,  and  on  no 
occasion  wliatevcr  take  any  exercise,  sixty  is  the  grand  climacteric. 
He  was  a  year  ago  just  fifty-nine.  Alas  !  he  has  not  even  reached 
his  grand  climacteric.  Already  he  is  gone.  He  was  cut  off  by 
pneumonia,  or  apoplexy,  last  Christmas.  Tbose  who  saw  the  mel- 
ancholy cortege  filing  out  of  the  narrow  gates  of  Barnard's  Inn 
mournfully  remarked  that  none  of  his  money  was  taken  with  him, 
and  asked  what  happiness  he  could  possibly  find  in  the  next  world, 
which  he  would  begin  with  nothing  —  nothing  at  all,  not  even 
credit — an  absolute  pauper. 

Mr.  Robert  Ilellyer  sat  on  one  side  of  the  empty  fireplace.  On 
the  opposite  side,  a  great  contrast  to  his  coarse  and  vulgar  face, 
sat  an  elderly  man,  tall,  thin,  dressed  in  a  coat  whose  sleeves  were 
worn  to  shininess.  His  face  was  dejected;  his  features  were  still 
fine;  lie  was  evidcitly  a  gentleman.  This  person  was  a  barrister, 
decayed  and  unsuccessful ;  he  lived  in  a  garret  in  Gray's  Inn. 
There  are  a  good  many  wrecks  at  the  bar,  but  few  quite  so  forlorn 
as  this  poor  old  man.  He  still  professed  to  practise,  and  picked 
up  a  guinea  now  and  then  by  defending  criminals.  On  these 
casual  fees  he  managed  to  live.  His  clothes  were  threadbare;  it 
was  many  years  since  he  had  had  a  great-coat;  on  rainy  and  cold 
days  he  had  a  thin  cape  which  he  wore  over  his  shoulders. 
Heaven  knows  how  he  dined  and  breakfasted;  every  evening,  ex- 
cept in  the  hot  days  of  summer,  he  came  to  this  place  for  light 
and  warmth.  Unless  he  was  very  poor  indeed  he  called  for  a 
pint  of  old  and  mild,  and  read  the  day's  paper.  Sometimes  he 
talked,  but  not  often ;  sometimes  one  or  other  of  the  company 
would  offer  him  a  more  costly  drink,  which  he  always  accepted 
with  all  that  was  left  to  him  of  courtesy.  Outside,  he  had  no 
friends — they  had  all  forgotten  him  or  died ;  it  is  very  easy  for  a 
poor  man  to  be  forgotten.  He  had  no  relations — they  had  all 
died,  emigrated,  or  dispersed;  the  relations  of  the  unsuccessful 
are  easily  lost.  When  he  talked,  he  sometimes  became  animated, 
and  would  tell  anecdotes  of  the  bar  and  of  the  time  when  he  was 


TUE    IVOKY    GATE  49 

called,  nearly  fifty  years  ajronc,  by  tlic  benchers  of  Gray's  Inn. 
"What  had  become  of  the  liopcs  and  ambitions  with  which  that 
young  man  entered  upon  the  profession,  which  was  to  lead  him 
to  the  parlor  of  the  iSalntation  and  the  company  that  gathered 
there — and  to  the  bare  and  miserable  garret  of  Gray's  Inn,  forgot- 
ten and  alone? 

Another  man,  also  elderly,  who  sat  next  to  the  barrister,  was  a 
gentleman  who  sold  an  excellent  business  and  retired,  in  order  to 
betake  himself  more  completely  to  toping.  lie  drank  in  three 
taverns  during  the  day.  One  was  in  Fleet  Street,  where  he  took 
his  chop  at  three;  one  was  near  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  where  he 
dallied  with  a  little  whiskey  from  five  to  nine;  and  this  was  the 
third,  lie  was  a  quiet,  happy,  self-respecting,  dignified  old  man. 
In  the  evening  he  spoke  not  at  all — for  sufficient  reasons;  but  he 
benevolently  inclined  his  head  if  he  was  addressed. 

Next  to  him  sat  a  younger  man,  a  solicitor,  whose  practice  con- 
sisted of  defending  prisoners  in  the  police  courts;  he  had  with 
him  two  friends,  and  he  had  a  confident  swagger  which  passed  for 
ability.  Next  to  him  and  his  friends  was  a  house-agent,  who  had 
been  a  member  for  an  Irish  borough.  And  there  was  a  gentle- 
man whose  wife  sang  in  music  halls,  so  that  this  fortunate  person 
could — and  did — sit  about  in  taverns  all  day  long;  his  appearance 
was  that  of  a  dcboshed  City  clerk,  as  he  was.  Not  to  mention 
other  members  of  the  company,  Chcckley  was  there,  occupying  a 
chair  next  to  the  money-lender. 

Here  lie  was  called  Mr.  Checkley.  He  came  every  evening  at 
nine  o'clock,  Sundays  included.  Like  the  money-lender,  he  want- 
ed his  little  distractions,  and  took  them  in  this  way.  Here,  too, 
he  was  among  those  who  respected  him,  not  so  much  on  account 
of  his  public  and  private  virtues,  or  for  his  eminence  in  the  law, 
as  his  money.  It  is  not  often  that  a  solicitor's  clerk  becomes  a 
warm  man,  but  then  it  is  not  often  that  one  of  the  calling  deliber- 
ately i)roposes  to  himself  early  in  life  to  save  money,  and  lives 
till  seventy-five  steadily  carrying  out  his  object.  If  you  are  good 
at  figures  you  will  understand  how  Mr.  Chcckley  succeeded.  Be- 
tween the  ages  of  eighteen  and  twenty-five  he  had  an  income 
which  averaged  about  seventy -five  pounds;  he  lived  upon  fifty 
pounds  a  year.  From  twenty-five  to  thirty -five  he  made  an  aver- 
age of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ;  he  still  lived  upon  fifty 
pounds  a  year.     At  thirty-five  he  was  induced  by  prudential  con- 

a 


50  THE    IVORY    GATE 

siderations  to  marry ;  the  lady,  considerably  his  senior,  had  a 
thousand  pounds.  She  was  even  more  miserly  than  himself;  and 
in  a  year  or  so  after  marriage  she  fell  into  a  decline,  owing  to  in- 
sufficient nourishment,  and  presently  expired.  On  the  whole,  he 
calculated  that  he  was  the  better  man  for  the  marriage  by  a  thou- 
sand pounds.  From  thirty-five  to  forty-five  his  income  rose  to 
two  hundred  pounds;  it  then  for  twenty-five  years  stood  at  three 
hundred  pounds  a  year;  at  the  age  of  seventy  Mr.  Dcring  gave 
him  four  hundred  pounds.  Therefore,  to  sum  up,  he  had  put  by 
out  of  his  pay  the  sum  of  eleven  thousand  six  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-five pounds — and  this  without  counting  the  compound  inter- 
est, always  mounting  up  from  his  investments,  which  were  all  of 
a  careful  kind,  such  as  he  understood — tenement  houses,  of  which 
he  had  a  good  number;  shares  in  building  societies;  money  lent 
on  bills  of  sale  or  on  mortgage.  At  home — Mr.  Checkley  lived 
on  the  ground  floor  of  one  of  his  own  houses — he  grew  more 
miserly  as  he  grew  older.  The  standard  of  luxury  is  not  high 
when  fifty  pounds  a  year  covers  all ;  but  of  late  he  had  been  try- 
ing to  keep  below  even  that  humble  amount.  lie  conducted  his 
affairs  in  the  evening,  between  his  office  hours  and  nine,  at  his 
own  house  or  among  the  pco])le  where  his  property  lay.  It  was 
in  the  district  visited  by  few,  lying  cast  of  Gray's  Inn  Road  ;  his 
own  house  was  in  a  certain  small  square,  a  good  half  of  the  houses 
in  which  belonged  to  him. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  arrived  at  the  tavern.  Here  his  drinks  cost 
him  nothing.  A  custom  had  grown  up  in  the  course  of  years  for 
the  money-lender  to  consult  him  on  the  many  difficult  points 
which  arise  in  the  practice  of  his  profession.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  like  to  have  one  foot  over  the  wall  erected  by  the  law,  but 
not  both.  In  other  words  he  was  always  trying  to  find  out  liow 
far  the  law  would  allow  him  to  go,  and  where  it  called  upon  him 
to  stop.  With  this  view  he  schemed  perpetually  to  make  his  cli- 
ents sign  bonds  under  the  delusion  that  they  meant  a  hundredtli 
part  of  w^hat  they  really  did  mean.  And  as,  like  all  ignorant  men, 
he  had  the  most  profound  belief  in  the  power  and  the  knowledge 
and  the  chicanery  of  lawyers,  he  was  pleased  to  obtain  Chcckley's 
advice  in  return  for  Chcckley's  drinks. 

It  was  a  full  gathering.  The  old  clerk  arrived  late ;  he  was 
gratified  at  hearing  the  ex-M.P.  whispering  to  his  neighbors  that 
the  new  arrival  was  worth  his  twenty  thousand  pounds  if  a  penny. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  51 

Ue  swelled  with  honorable  pride.  Yes,  Twenty  thousand  pounds  ! 
And  more — more.  Who  would  have  thought,  when  ho  began  as 
an  office-boy,  that  lie  could  ever  achieve  so  much  ? 

The  money-lender,  bursting  with  a  new  case,  real  or  supposed, 
took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  communicated  it  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  Suppose — "  it  began. 

"Then,"  Checkley  replied  when  the  case  was  finished,  "you 
would  lay  yourself  open  to  a  criminal  prosecution.  Don't  you  go 
so  much  as  to  think  of  it.  There  was  a  case  twenty-five  years 
ago  exactly  like  it.  The  remarks  of  the  judge  were  most  severe, 
and  the  sentence  was  heavy." 

"  Ah  !"  The  usurer's  red  face  grew  redder.  "  Tlicu  it  can't 
be  thought  of.  Pity,  too.  There's  a  houseful  of  furniture  and 
a  shopful  of  stuff.  And  a  young  man  as  it  would  do  good  to 
him  just  to  start  fair  again.  Pity.  Put  a  name  to  it,  Mr. 
Checkley." 

"Rum — hot  —  with  lemon,"  replied  tlio  sage.  "You  get 
more  taste  in  your  mouth,  more  upliftin'  for  your  heart  as  they 
say,  more  strengthenin'  for  the  stomach,  better  value  all  round  for 
your  money  out  of  rum  than  any  other  drink  that  I  know." 

At  this  point,  and  before  the  waiter  could  execute  the  order, 
voices  and  steps  were  heard  outside  the  room — the  voices  of  two 
men.  That  of  one  loud,  eager,  noisy.  That  of  the  other  quiet, 
measured,  and  calm. 

Checkley  sat  upright  suddenly,  and  listened. 

"That  is  young  Cambridge,"  said  the  old  barrister.  "I 
thought  he  would  be  here — Saturday  night  and  all."  lie  smiled, 
as  if  expectant  of  something,  and  drank  off  the  rest  of  liis  beer 
at  a  draught. 

"  Most  distinguislicd  Cambridge  man,"  whispered  the  ex-M.P.  to 
his  neighbors.  "  Wanst  a  Fellow  of  Cambridge  College.  Great 
scholar.  Ornament  to  any  circle.  Dhrinks  like  an  oyster.  Son 
of  a  bishop,  too — son  of  an  Irish  bishop — talks  Greek  like  Eng- 
lish. Hell  come  in  directly.  He's  taking  something  outside. 
He's  always  half  dhrunk  to  begin,  and  quite  dhrunk  to  finish. 
But  he  only  talks  the  better — being  Oirish.  Most  remarkable 
man." 

The  voice  of  this  distinguished  person  Checkley  knew.  But 
the  other  voice — that  he  knew  as  well.     And  he  could  not  re- 


52  THE    IVORY    GATE 

member  whose  voice  it  was.  Very  well,  indeed,  lie  remembered 
the  sound  of  it.  Some  men  never  forget  a  face ;  some  men  never 
forget  a  shape  or  figure ;  some  men  never  forget  a  voice ;  some 
men  never  forget  a  handwriting.  A  voice  is  the  simplest  thing, 
after  all,  to  remember,  and  the  most  unchanging.  From  eighteen 
till  eighty  a  man's  voice  changes  not,  save  that  in  volume  it  de- 
creases during  the  last  decade ;  the  distinguishing  quality  of  the 
voice  remains  the  same  to  the  end. 

"  Have  a  drink,  my  dear  fellow."  That  was  the  voice  of  the 
pride  of  Cambridge. 

"  Thanks.     I  don't  want  a  drink." 

Whose  voice  was  it?  Checkley  sat  up,  eager  for  the  door  to 
be  opened  and  that  doubt  to  be  resolved. 

It  was  opened.  The  two  men  came  in,  first  the  Cambridge 
man,  leading  the  way.  He  was  a  good-looking,  smooth-faced 
man  of  thirty-two  or  so,  with  bright  blue  eyes — too  bright — a 
fine  face,  full  of  delicacy  and  mobilit}',  a  high,  narrow  forehead, 
and  quick,  sensitive  lips;  a  man  who  was  obviously  in  want  of 
some  one  to  take  him  in  hand  and  control  him ;  one  of  those 
men  who  have  no  will  of  their  own,  and  fall  naturally  before  any 
temptation  which  assails  them.  The  chief  temptation  which  as- 
sailed Freddy  Carstone — it  seems  to  stamp  tlie  man  that  his 
friends  all  called  him  Freddy  ;  a  Freddy  is  amiable,  weak,  be- 
loved, and  given  to  err,  slip,  fall,  and  give  way — was  the  tempta- 
tion to  drink.  He  was  really,  as  the  ex-M.P.  told  his  neighbors, 
a  very  fine  scholar;  he  had  been  a  fellow  of  his  college,  but  never 
received  any  appointment  or  oflSce  of  lecturer  there,  on  account 
of  this  weakness  of  his,  which  was  notorious.  When  his  fel- 
lowship expired  he  came  to  London,  lived  in  Gray's  Inn,  and 
took  pupils.  He  had  the  reputation  of  being  an  excellent  coach 
if  he  could  be  caught  sober.  He  was  generally  sober  in  the 
morning,  often  a  little  elevated  in  the  afternoon,  and  always 
cheerfully — not  stupidly — drunk  at  night. 

"  You  must  have  a  drink,"  Freddy  repeated.  "  Not  want  a 
drink?  Hang  it!  old  man,  it  isn't  what  you  want,  it's  what  you 
like.  If  I  only  took  what  I  wanted  I  should  be — what  should  I 
be?  Fellow  and  tutor  of  the  college — very  likely  master — most 
probably  archdeacon — certainly  bishop.  Wasn't  my  father  a 
bishop  ?  Now,  if  you  take  what  you  like,  as  well  as  what  you 
want — what  happens?     You  go  easily  and  comfortably  down- 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


53 


l,ill_do\vn— down— down— like  me.  Tobogganing  isn't  easier; 
the  switchback  railway  isn't  more  pleasant.  Always  take  what 
you  like." 

"  No— no,  Freddy  ;  thanks." 

"  What?  You've  got  ambitions  still?  You  want  to  be  climb- 
ing? Man  alive!  it's  too  late.  You've  stayed  away  from  yonr 
frkjnds  too  long.  You  can't  get  up.  Better  join  us  at  the  Salu- 
tation Club.  Come  in  with  me.  I'll  introduce  you.  They'll  be 
glad  to  have  you.  Intellectual  conversation  carried  on  nightly. 
Romantic  scenery  from  the  back  window.  Finest  parlor  in  Lon- 
don. Come  in,  and  sample  the  Scotch.  Not ^ want  a  drink? 
Who  ever  saw  a  man  who  didn't  want  a  drink?" 

The  other  man  followed  reluctantly,  and  at  sight  of  him 
Cliecklcy  jumped  in  his  chair.  Then  he  snatclied  the  paper 
from  the  hands  of  the  ancient  barrister  and  buried  his  head  in 
it.  The  action  was  most  remarkable  and  unmistakable.  Ue  hid 
himself  behind  the  paper.  For  the  man  whom  the  Cambridge 
scholar  was  dragging  into  the  room  was  none  other  than  Athel- 
stan  Arundel— the  °very  man  of  whom  Mr.  Bering  had  been 
speaking  that  very  afternoon ;  the  very  man  whose  loss  lie  had 
been  regretting;  the  man  accused  by  himself  of  forgery.  So 
great  was  his  'terror  at  the  sight  of  this  man  that  he  was  fain 
to  hide  behind  the  paper. 

Yes,  the  same  man  ;  well  dressed,  apparently,  and  prosperous— 
in  a  velvet  jacket  and  a  white  waistcoat,  with  a  big  brown  beard 
—still  carrying  himself  with  that  old  insolent  pride,  as  if  he  had 
never  forged  anything ;  looking  not  a  day  older,  in  spite  of  the 
eight  years  that  "had  elapsed.     What  was  he  doing  here? 

'"  Come  in,  man,"  said  Freddy,  again.  "  You  shall  have  one 
drink  at  least,  and  as  many  more  as  you  like.  Robert,  two 
Scotch  and  soda.  Wo  haven't  met  for  eight  long  years.  Let 
us  sit  down  and  confess  our  sins  for  eight  years.  Where  have 
you  been  ? ' 

"  For  the  most  part — abroad." 

"  You  don't  look  it.  Ue  wlio  goes  abroad  to  make  his  fortune 
always  comes  home  in  rags,  with  a  pistol  in  his  coat-tail  and  a 
bowie-knife  in  his  belt— at  least  we  are  taught  so.  You  wear 
velvet  and  fine  linen.  You  haven't  been  abroad.  T  don't  believe 
you've  been  farther  than  Cambcrwell.  In  fact,  Cambcrwell  has 
been  your  headquarters.     You've  been  living  in  Camberwell— on 


64  THE    IVOKY    GATE 

Cambcrwcll  Green,  which  is  a  slice  of  Eden,  witli — perhaps — 
didn't  pretty  Polly  Perkins  live  on  Camberwell  Green  ? — for  eight 
long  years." 

"  Let  me  call  upon  you  in  your  lodgings,  where  we  can  talk." 

"  I  haven't  got  any  lodgings,  I  am  in  chambers — I  live  all 
by  myself  in  Gray's  Inn.  Come  and  see  mc.  I  am  always  at 
home  in  the  mornings — to  pupils  only — and  generally  at  home 
in  the  afternoon  to  pupils  and  topers  and  lushingtons.  Here's 
your  whiskey.  Sit  down.  Let  mc  introduce  you  to  the  com- 
pany. This  is  a  highly  intellectual  society — not  what  you  would 
expect  of  a  Ilolborn  parlor.  It  is  a  club  which  meets  here  every 
evening  —  a  first-class  club.  Subscription,  nothing.  Entrance 
fee,  nothing.  Order  what  you  like.  Don't  pretend  not  to  know 
your  brother-members.  Gentlemen,  this  is  my  old  friend,  Mr. 
Athelstan  Arundel,  who  has  been  abroad — on  Camberwell  Green, 
for  the  sake  of  Polly  Perkins — for  eight  years,  and  has  now 
returned." 

The  ex-M.P.  nudged  his  neighbors  to  call  their  attention  to 
something  good.  The  rest  received  the  introduction  and  the  re- 
marks which  followed  in  silence. 

"  Arundel,  the  gentleman  by  the  fireplace — he  with  the  pipe — 
is  our  Shylock,  sometimes  called  the  Lord  Sliylock."  The  money- 
lender looked  up  with  a  dull  and  unintelligent  eye ;  I  believe  the 
allusion  was  entirely  above  his  comprehension.  "  Beside  him  is 
Mr.  Vulpes — he  with  his  head  buried  in  the  paper — you'll  see 
him  presently.  Mr,  Vulpes  is  advanced  in  years,  but  well  pre- 
served, and  knows  every  letter  of  the  law  ;  he  is,  indeed,  an  or- 
nament of  the  lower  branch.  Vulpes  will  let  you  a  house — he 
has  many  most  charming  residences — or  will  advance  you  money 
on  mortgage.  lie  knows  the  law  of  landlord  and  tenant,  and  the 
law  regarding  bills  of  sale.  I  recommend  Vulpes  to  your  friend- 
ly consideration.  Here  is  Senex  Bibulus  Bencvolcns."  The  old 
gentleman  kindly  inclined  his  head,  being  too  far  gone  for  speech, 
"  Here  is  a  most  learned  counsel,  who  ought,  had  merit  pre- 
vailed, to  have  been  by  this  time  lord  chancellor,  chief  justice, 
judge,  or  master  of  the  rolls — or  queen's  counsel  at  least.  So 
far  he  is  still  a  junior,  but  we  liope  for  his  speedy  advancement. 
Sir,  I  entreat  the  honor  of  offering  you  a  goblet  of  more  gener- 
ous drink.  Robert,  Irish  whiskey  and  a  lemon  for  this  gentle- 
man.    There" — he  pointed  to  the  cx-M.P.,  who  again   nudged 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


55 


bis  neif^hbors  and  grinned—"  is  oiir  legislator  and  statesman,  the 
pride  ol  his  constituents,  the  darling  of  Ballynacuddcry  till  they 
turned  him  out.  There"— he  pointed  to  the  deboshed  clerk— 
"is  a  member  of  a  great  modern  profession,  a  gentleman  with 
whom  it  is  indeed  a  pride  to  sit  down.  He  is  Monsieur  le  Mari— 
Monsieur  le  Mari  complaisant  et  content." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  gentleman  indicated. 
"  If  you  want  to  talk  Greek,  talk  it  outside." 

"  i  cannot  stay,"  said  Athelstan,  looking  about  the  room  with 
scant  respect.      "  I  will  call  upon  you  at  your  chambers." 

i'Do do,   my   dear   fellow."     Athelstan    shook    hands,  and 

walked  away.  "  Now,  there's  a  man,  gentlemen,  who  might 
have  done  anything  — anything  he  might  have  done.  Rowed 
stroke  to  his  boat.  Threw  up  everything  eight  years  ago,  and 
went  away— nobody  knew  why.  Sad  to  see  so  much  promise 
wasted.  Sad— sad.  He  hasn't  even  touched  his  drink.  Then 
I  must — myself."     And  he  did. 

Observe  that  there  is  no  such  lamentation  over  the  failure  of  a 
promising  young  man  as  from  one  who  has  also  failed.  For,  by 
a  merciful"  arrangement,  the  failure  seldom  suspects  himself  of 
having  failed. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Checkley,"  said  the  barrister,  "  he's  gone  away, 
and  you  needn't  hide  yourself  any  longer— and  you  can  let  me 
have  my  paper  again." 

Mr.  Checkley  spoke  no  more  that  evening.  He  drank  up  his 
rum-and-water,  and  he  went  away  mightily  perturbed.  That 
Athelstan  Arundel  had  come  back  portended  that  something 
would  happen.  And,  like  King  Cole's  prophet,  he  could  not 
foretell  the  nature  of  the  event. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A    KEBELLI0U3    CHILD 


Elsie  left  her  lover  at  the  door.  Most  accepted  suitors  accom- 
pany their  sweethearts  into  the  very  bosom  of  the  family — the 
gt/n(cceiu7i—ihc  parlor,  as  it  used  to  be  called.     Not  so  George 


56  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Austin.  Since  the  engagement — the  deplorable  engagement — it 
was  understood  that  he  was  not  to  presume  upon  entering  the 
house.  Romeo  might  as  well  have  sent  in  his  card  to  Juliet's 
mamma.  In  fact,  that  lady  could  not  possibly  have  regarded  the 
pretensions  of  Romeo  more  unfavorably  than  Mrs.  Arundel  did 
those  of  George  Austin.  This  not  on  account  of  any  family  ine- 
quality, for  his  people  were  no  more  decidedly  of  the  middle  class 
than  her  own.  That  is  to  say,  they  numbered  as  many  members 
who  were  presentable,  and  quite  as  many  who  were  not.  Our  great 
middle  class  is  pretty  well  alike  in  this  respect.  In  every  house- 
hold there  are  things  which  may  be  paraded  and  things  tacenda — 
members  successful,  members  unsuccessful,  members  disgraceful. 
All  the  world  knows  aH  the  things  which  must  be  concealed;  we 
all  know  that  all  the  world  knows  them  ;  but  still  we  protend 
that  there  arc  no  such  things,  and  so  we  maintain  the  family  dig- 
nity. Nor  could  the  widow  object  to  George  on  account  of  his 
religious  opinions,  in  which  he  dutifully  followed  his  forefathers; 
or  of  his  abilities,  manners,  morals,  culture,  accomplishments,  or 
outward  appearance,  in  all  of  which  he  was  everything  that  could 
be  expected  of  a  young  man  who  had  his  own  fortune  to  make. 
A  rich  young  man  has  no  need  of  manners,  morals,  abilities,  or 
accomplishments — a  thing  too  often  forgotten  by  satirists  wlien 
they  depict  the  children  of  Sir  Midas  Gorgias  and  his  tribe.  The 
lady's  objection  was  simply  and  most  naturally  that  the  young 
man  had  nothing,  and  would  probably  never  have  anything;  that 
he  was  a  managing  clerk,  without  money  to  buy  a  partnership,  in 
a  highly  congested  profession.  To  aggravate  this  objection,  he 
stood  in  the  way  of  two  most  desirable  suitors  who  were  sup- 
posed to  be  ready  should  Elsie  give  them  any  encouragement. 
They  were  a  rich  old  man,  whose  morals  could  no  longer  be  ques- 
tioned ;  and  a  rich  young  man,  whose  morals  would  doubtless 
improve  with  marriage — if,  that  is,  they  wanted  improvement,  for 
on  this  delicate  subject  ladies  find  it  difficult  to  get  reliable  infor- 
mation. And,  again,  the  exalted  position  of  the  elder  sister  should 
have  been  an  example  and  a  beacon.  Which  of  you,  mesdames, 
would  look  on  with  patience  to  such  a  sacrifice — a  young  and 
lovely  daughter  thrown  away,  with  all  her  charms  and  all  lier 
chances,  upon  a  man  with  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  and  no 
chance  of  anything  much  better?  Think  of  it — two  hundred 
pounds  a  year — for  a  gentlewoman ! 


TIIK    IVORY    GATE 


57 


There  are  some  families— many  families— with  whom  the  wor- 
ship of  wealth  is  hereditary.     The  Arundels  have  been  City  peo- 
ple, married  with  other  City  people-in  trade— for  two  hundred 
years  and  more  ;  they  are  all  members  of  City  companies;  there 
have  been  lord  mayors  and  sheriffs  among  them  ;  some  of  them 
—for  they  are  now  a  clan— are  rich  ;  some  are  very  rich  ;  one  or 
two  are  very,  very  rich ;  those  who  fail  and  go  bankrupt  quickly 
drop  out  of  sight.     All  their  traditions  are  of  money-getting  ; 
they  estimate  s'ucccss  and  worth  and  respect  by  the  amount  a 
man  leaves  behind— it  is  the  good  old  tradition ;  they  talk  of 
money ;  they  are  not  vulgar,  or  loud,  or  noisy,  or  disagreeable  in 
any  way,  but  they  openly  and  without  disguise  worship  the  great 
god  riutus,  and  believe  that  he,  and  none  other,  is  the  God  of 
the  Christians.     They  have  as  much  culture  as  other  people,  at 
least  to  outward  show ;  they  furnish  their  houses  as  artistically 
as  other  people;  they  buy  pictures  and  books;  but  ideas  do  not 
touch  them  ;    if  they  read  new  ideas  they  are  not  affected  by 
them,  however  skilfully  the>  may  be  put;  they  go  to  church  arid 
hear  the  parable  about  Dives,  and  they  wonder  how  Dives  could 
have  been  so  hard-hearted.     Then  they  go  home,  and  talk  about 

money.  c    \  ■    c 

Elsie's  father,  a  younger  son  of  the  richest  branch  of  this  fam- 
ily started  with  a  comfortable  little  fortune  and  a  junior  partner- 
ship   He  was  getting  on  very  well  indeed ;  he  had  begun  to  show 
the  stuff  of  which  he  was  made— a  good,  stout,  tenacious  kind  of 
stuff  likely  to  last  and  to  hold  out ;  he  was  beginning  to  increase 
his  fortune ;  he  looked  forward  to  a  successful  career ;  and  he 
hoped  to   leave   behind  him,  after   many,  many  years,  perhaps 
three  quarters  of  a  million.    He  was  only  thirty-five  years  of  age, 
yet  he  was  struck  down  and  had  to  go.     His  widow  received  lit- 
tle more  than  her  husband's  original  fortune ;  it  was  small  com- 
pared with  what   she  might  fairly  expect  when  she  married,  but 
it  was  lar.rc  enough  for  her  to  live  with  her  three  children  in 
Pembrid^e"  Squared     What  happened  to  the  son,  you  know.    He 
went  away  in  a  royal  rage,  and  had  never  been  heard  of  since. 
The  elder  daughter,  Hilda,  when  about  two-and-twenty,  as  )-^ou 
also  know,  had  the  good  fortune  to  attract  the  admiration  of  a 
.vidower  of  very  considerable  wealth,  the  brother  of  her  guardian. 
Ue  was  thirty-five  years  older  than  herself,  but  he  was  rich— nay, 
very  rich  indeed.     Jute,  I  believe,  on  an  extensive  scale,  was  the 


58  THE    IVORY    GATE 

cause  of  his  great  fortune.  He  was  knighted  on  a  certain  great  oc- 
casion wlien  warden  of  his  company,  so  that  he  offered  his  bride  a 
title  and  precedence,  as  well  as  a  great  income,  a  mansion  in  Pal- 
ace Gardens,  a  handsome  settlement,  carriages  and  horses,  and 
everything  else  that  the  feminine  heart  can  desire. 

The  widow,  soon  after  her  husband  died,  found  the  tinie  ex- 
tremely dull  without  the  daily  excitement  of  the  City  tallc  to 
which  she  had  been  accustomed.  There  was  no  one  with  whom 
she  could  discuss  the  money  market.  Now,  all  her  life  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  talk  of  shares,  and  stocks,  and  investments,  and 
fluctuations,  and  operations,  and  buying  in  and  selling  out.  She 
began,  therefore,  to  watch  the  market  on  her  own  account.  Then 
she  began  to  operate ;  then  she  gave  her  whole  time  and  all  her 
thoughts  to  the  business  of  studying,  watching,  reading,  and  fore- 
casting. Of  course,  then,  she  lost  her  money,  and  fell  into  diffi- 
culties? Nothing  of  the  kind — she  made  money.  There  is  al- 
ways plenty  of  virtuous  indignation  ready  for  those  foolish  per- 
sons who  dabble  in  stocks.  They  are  gamblers;  they  always  lose 
in  the  long  run — we  all  know  that,  the  copy-books  tell  us  so. 
If  two  persons  play  heads-and-tails  for  sovereigns,  do  they  both 
lose  in  the  long  run  ?  If  so,  who  wius?  Wliere  does  the  money 
go?  Even  a  gambler  need  not  always  lose  in  the  long  run,  as 
all  gamblers  know.  La  Veuve  Arundel  was  not  in  any  sense  a 
gambler.  Nor  was  she  a  dabbler.  She  was  a  seiious  and  calcu- 
lating operator.  She  took  up  one  branch  of  the  great  money 
market,  and  confined  her  attentions  to  that  branch,  which  she 
studied  with  so  much  care  and  assiduity  that  slie  became  a  pro- 
fessional;  that  is  to  say,  she  threw  into  the  study  all  her  ener- 
gies, all  her  thoughts,  and  all  her  intellect.  ^Vhen  a  young  man 
does  this  on  the  Stock  Exchange  he  may  expect  to  win.  Mrs. 
Arundel  was  not  an  ordinary  young  man — she  was  a  sharp  and 
clever  woman ;  by  hard  work  she  had  learned  all  that  can  be 
learned,  and  had  acquired  some  of  that  prescience  which  comes  of 
knowledge — the  prophet  of  the  future  is,  after  all,  he  who  knows 
and  can  discuss  the  forces  and  the  facts  of  the  present ;  the  Sibyl 
at  the  present  day  would  be  a  journalist.  She  was  clear-headed, 
quick  to  see,  and  ready  to  act ;  she  was  of  a  quick  temper  as  well 
as  a  quick  perception  ;  and  she  was  resolute.  Such  qualities  in 
most  women  make  them  absolute  sovereigns  in  the  household. 
Mrs.  Arundel  was  not  an  absolute  sovereign — partly  because  she 


THE    IVORY    GATE  59 

thought  little  of  her  household,  and  partly  because  her  children 
were  distinguished  by  much  the  same  qualities,  and  their  subjec- 
tion would  have  proved  difficult  if  not  impossible. 

This  was  the  last  house  in  London  where  one  might  have  ex- 
pected to  find  a  girl  who  was  ready  to  despise  wealth  and  to  find 
her  happiness  in  a  condition  of  poverty.  Elsie  was  completely 
out  of  harmony  with  all  her  own  people.  There  is  a  good  deal 
of  opinion  going  about  in  favor  of  the  simple  life;  many  girls 
have  become  Socialists  in  so  far  as  they  think  the  amassing  of 
wealth  neither  desirable  nor  worthy  of  respect;  many  would  rath- 
er marry  a  man  of  limited  means  who  has  a  profession  than  a 
rich  man  who  has  a  business ;  many  girls  hold  that  art  is  a  much 
finer  tiling  than  wealth.  Elsie  learned  these  pernicious  senti- 
ments at  school ;  they  attracted  her  at  first  because  they  were  so 
fresh;  she  found  all  the  best  literature  full  of  these  sentiments; 
she  developed  in  due  course  a  certain  natural  ability  for  art;  she 
attended  an  art  school ;  she  set  up  an  easel ;  she  painted  in  pastel ; 
she  called  her  room  a  studio.  She  gave  her  friends  the  greatest 
uneasiness  by  her  opinions;  she  ended,  as  you  have  seen,  by  be- 
coming engaged  to  a  young  man  with  nothing.  How  could  such 
a  girl  be  born  of  such  parents? 

When  she  got  home  on  Saturday  evening  she  found  her  moth- 
er playing  a  game  of  double  vingt-et-un  with  a  certain  cousin, 
one  Sydney  Arundel.  The  game  is  very  good  for  the  rapid  inter- 
change of  coins  ;  you  should  make  it  a  time  game,  to  end  in  half 
an  hour — one  hour — two  hours,  and  at  the  end  you  will  find  that 
you  have  had  a  very  pretty  little  gamble.  Mrs.  Arundel  liked 
nothing  better  than  a  game  of  cards — provided  the  stakes  were 
high  enough  to  give  it  excitement.  To  play  cards  for  love  is  in- 
deed insipid — it  is  like  a  dinner  of  cold  boiled  mutton  or  like  sand- 
wiches of  veal.  The  lady  would  play  anything — piquet,  ocarte, 
double  dummy — and  her  daughter  Elsie  hated  the  sight  of  cards. 
As  for  the  cousin,  he  was  on  the  Stock  Exchange ;  he  came  often 
to  dinner,  and  to  talk  business  after  dinner ;  he  was  a  kind  of  mu- 
sical box  or  barrel  organ  in  conversation,  because  he  could  only 
play  one  tune.  His  business  as  well  as  his  pleasure  was  in  the 
money  market. 

"  So  you  have  come  home,  Elsie  ?"  said  Mrs.  Arundel,  coldly. 

"Yes,  I  have  come  home."  Elsie  seated  herself  at  the  window, 
and  waited. 


60  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  Now,  Sydney  " — her  mother  took  up  the  cards — "  my  deal ; 
will  you  take  any  more  ?" 

She  was  a  c;ood-looking  woman  still,  though  past  fifty — her 
abundant  hair  had  gone  pleasantly  gray,  her  features  were  fine, 
her  brown  eyes  were  quick  and  bright ;  her  lips  were  firm,  and 
her  chin  straight.  She  was  tall  and  of  good  figure  ;  she  was 
clad  in  black  silk,  with  a  large  gold  chain  about  her  neck  and 
good  lace  upon  her  shoulders.  She  wore  many  rings  and  a  brace- 
let. She  liked,  in  fact,  the  appearance  of  wealth  as  well  as  the 
possession  of  it;  she  therefore  always  appeared  in  costly  raiment; 
her  house  was  furnished  with  a  costly  solidity;  everything,  even 
the  bindings  of  her  books,  was  good  to  look  at ;  her  one  man-ser- 
vant looked  like  the  responsible  butler  of  a  millionaire,  and  her 
one-horse  carriage  looked  as  if  it  belonged  to  a  dozen. 

The  game  went  on.  Presently  the  clock  struck  ten.  "Time," 
said  the  lady.  "  We  must  stop.  Now  then.  Let  us  see — I  make 
it  seventy-three  shillings.  Thank  you.  Three  pounds  thirteen — 
an  evening  not  altogether  wasted.  And  now,  Sydney,  light  your 
cigar — you  know  I  like  it.  You  shall  have  your  whiskey-and- 
soda,  and  we  will  talk  business.  Tiiere  are  half  a  dozen  things 
that  I  want  to  consult  you  about.  Heavens!  why  cannot  I  be 
admitted  to  the  Exchange?  A  few  women  among  you — clever 
women,  like  myself,  Sydney — would  wake  you  up." 

They  talked  business  for  an  hour,  the  lady  making  notes  in  a 
little  book,  asking  questions  and  making  suggestions.  At  last  the 
cousin  got  up — it  was  eleven  o'clock — and  went  away.  Then  her 
mother  turned  to  Elsie. 

"It  is  a  great  pity,"  she  said,  "that  you  take  no  interest  in 
these  things." 

"  I  dislike  them  very  much,  as  you  know,"  said  Elsie. 

"  Yes — you  dislike  them  because  they  are  of  real  importance. 
Well — never  mind.  You  have  been  out  with  the  young  man,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"  Yes — we  have  been  on  the  river  together." 

"  I  supposed  it  was  something  of  the  kind.  So  the  house- 
maid keeps  company  with  the  pot-boy  without  consulting  her 
own  people  ?" 

"  It  is    nothing  unusual  for  me  to    spend    an  evening  with 

George.     Why  not?    You  will  not  suffer  me  to  bring  him  here." 

"  No,"  said  her  mother,  with  firmness.    "  Tiiat  young  man  shall 


THE    IVORY    GATE  61 

never,  under  any  circnmstances,  enter  this  house  with  my  knowl- 
edge !     For  the  rest,"  she  added,  "  do  as  you  please." 

This  was  the  kind  of  amiable  conversation  that  had  been  go- 
ino-  on  day  after  day  since  Elsie's  engagement — protestations  of 
ceasing  to  interfere,  and  continual  interference. 

There  are  many  ways  of  considering  the  subject  of  injudicious 
and  unequal  marriages.  You  may  ridicule ;  you  may  cajole ;  you 
may  argue  ;  you  may  scold ;  you  may  coax ;  you  may  represent 
the  naked  truth  as  it  is,  or  you  may  clothe  its  limbs  with  lies — 
the  lies  are  of  woven  stuff,  strong,  and  home-made.  When  you 
have  an  obdurate,  obstinate,  contumacious,  headstrong,  wilful, 
self-contained  maiden  to  deal  with,  you  will  waste  your  breath 
whatever  you  do.  The  mother  treated  Elsie  with  scorn,  and  scorn 
alone.  It  was  her  only  weapon.  Ilcr  elder  sister  tried  other 
weapons — she  laughed  at  the  makeshifts  of  poverty ;  she  cajoled 
with  soft  flattery  and  golden  promises;  she  argued  with  logic 
pitiless ;  she  scolded  like  a  fishwife ;  she  coaxed  with  tears  and 
kisses;  she  painted  the  loveliness  of  men  who  are  rich,  and  the 
power  of  women  who  are  beautiful.  And  all  in  vain.  Nothing 
moved  this  obdurate,  obstinate,  contumacious,  headstrong,  wilful 
Elsie.  She  would  stick  to  her  promise;  she  would  wed  her  lover 
even  if  she  had  to  entertain  poverty  as  well  all  her  life. 

"Are  you  so  infatuated,"  the  mother  went  on,  "  that  you  can- 
not see  that  he  cares  nothing  for  your  happiness?  He  thinks 
about  nobody  but  himself.  If  he  thought  of  you  he  would  see 
that  he  was  too  poor  to  make  you  happy,  and  he  would  break  it 
off.     As  it  is,  all  he  wants  is  to  marry  you." 

"  That  is,  indeed,  all.     He  has  never  disguised  the  fact." 

"  He  offers  you  the  half  of  a  bare  crust." 

"  By  halving  the  crust  wc  shall  double  it." 

"  Oh  I  I  have  no  patience.  But  there  is  an  end.  You  know 
my  opinion,  and  you  disregard  it.  I  cannot  lock  you  up,  or  beat 
you,  for  your  foolishness.  I  almost  wish  I  could,  I  will  neither 
reason  with  you  any  more  nor  try  to  dissuade  you.  Go  your 
own  way." 

"  If  you  would  only  understand.  We  are  going  to  live  very 
simply.  We  shall  put  all  unhappiness  outside  the  luxuries  of 
life.  And  we  shall  get  on,  if  we  never  get  rich.  I  wish  I  could 
make  you  understand  our  point  of  view.  It  makes  me  very  un- 
happy that  you  will  take  such  a  distorted  view." 


62  THE    IVORY    GATK 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  can  still  feci  unhappiness  at  such  a  cause 
as  my  displeasure." 

"  Well,  mother,  to-night  we  have  come  to  a  final  decision." 

"Am  I  to  learn  it?" 

"  Yes — I  wish  to  tell  you  at  once.  We  have  been  engaged  for 
two  years.  The  engagement  has  brought  me  nothing  but  wretch- 
edness at  home.  But  1  should  be  still  more  wretched — I  should 
be  wretched  all  my  life — if  I  were  to  break  it  off.  I  shall  be  of 
ago  in  a  day  or  two,  and  free  to  act  on  my  own  judgment." 

"You  are  acting  on  your  own  judgment  already." 

"  I  have  promised  George  that  I  will  marry  him  when  he 
pleases — that  is,  about  the  middle  of  August,  when  he  gets  his 
holiday." 

"  Oh  !  The  misery  of  poverty  will  begin  so  soon  ?  I  am  sorry 
to  hear  it.  As  I  said  before,  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it — no 
persuasion  or  dissuasion  ;  you  will  do  as  you  please." 

**  George  has  his  profession,  and  he  has  a  good  name  already. 
He  will  get  on.  Meantime,  a  little  plain  living  will  hurt  neither 
of  us.  Can't  you  tliinlc  that  we  may  begin  in  a  humble  way  and 
yet  get  on  ?  Money — money — money.  Oh!  Must  we  think  of 
nothing  else?" 

"  What  is  there  to  think  of  but  money  ?  Look  round  you, 
silly  child  !  What  gives  me  this  house — this  furniture — every- 
thing? Money.  What  feeds  you  and  clothes  you?  Money. 
What  gives  position,  consideration,  power,  dignity  ?  Money. 
Rank  without  money  is  contemptible.  Life  without  money  is 
miserable,  wretched,  intolerable.  Who  would  care  to  live  when 
the  smallest  luxury — the  least  comfort — has  to  be  denied  for 
want  of  money.  Even  the  art  of  which  you  talk  so  much  only 
becomes  respectable  when  it  commands  money.  You  cannot 
keep  off  disease  without  money  ;  you  cannot  educate  your  chil- 
dren without  money  ;  it  will  be  your  worst  punishment  in  the 
future  that  your  children  will  sink  and  become  servants.  Child !" 
she  cried  passionately,  "we  must  be  masters  or  servants — nay, 
lords  or  slaves.  You  leave  the  rank  of  lord  and  marry  the  rank 
of  slave.  It  is  money  that  makes  the  difference — money — money 
— money — that  you  pretend  to  despise.  It  is  money  that  has 
done  everything  for  you.  Your  grandfather  made  it — your  fa- 
ther made  it — I  am  making  it.  Go  on  in  your  madness  and  your 
folly.      In  the  end,  when  it  is  too  late,  you  will  long  for  money. 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


63 


pray  for  money,  be  ready  to  do  anytliing  for  money— for  your 
Ir.isband  and  your  children." 

"  \Vc  shall  have,  I  hope,  enough.  We  shall  work  fur  enough 
— no  more." 

"  Well,  child,"  her  Jiiothor  returned  quietly,  "  I  said  that  I 
would  say  nothing.  I  have  been  carried  away.  Let  there  be  no 
more  said.  Do  as  you  please.  You  know  my  mind— your  sis- 
ter's mind — your  cousins' — " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  guided  by  my  cousins." 
"Very  well.  You  will  stay  here  until  your  wedding-day. 
When  you  marry,  you  will  leave  this  house— and  me  and  your 
sister  and  all  your  people.  Do  not  expect  any  help  from  me. 
Do  not  look  forward  to  any  inheritance  from  me.  My  money  is 
all  my  own,  to  do  with  as  I  please.  If  you  wish  to  be  poor,  you 
shall  be  poor.  Hilda  tells  me  that  you  are  to  see  your  guardian 
on  Monday.  Terhaps  he  may  bring  you  to  your  senses.  As  for 
me,  I  shall  say  no  more." 

With  these  final  words  the  lady  left  the  room  and  went  to  bed. 
How  many  times  had  she  declared  that  she  would  say  no  more? 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  the  bells   began  to  ring  in  the 
morning,  and  the  two  ladies  sallied  forth  to  attend  divine  service 
as  usual     They  walked  side  by  side  in  silence.     That  sweet  and 
gracious  nymph,  the  Lady  Charity,  was  not  with  them  in  their 
pew.     The  elder  lady,  externally  cold,  was  full  of  resentment  and 
bitterness;   the  younger  was  more  than  usually  troubled  by  the 
outbreak  of  the  evening  before.    Yet  she  was  no  nearer  surrender. 
The  sermon,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  turned  upon  the  perishable 
nature  of  earthly  treasures,  and  the  vanity  of  the  objects  desired 
bv  that  unreasoning  person  whom  they  used  to  call  the  worldling. 
The  name  has  perished,  but  the  creature  still  exists,  and  is  found 
in  countless  herds  in  every  great  town.     The  parsons  are  always 
trying  to  shoot  hira  down,  but  they  never  succeed.     There  was 
just  a  fiery  passage  or  two  directed  against  the  species.     Elsie 
lioped  that  the  words  would  go  home.     Not  at  all.     They  fell 
upon  her  mother's  heart  like  seed  upon  the  rock.     She  heard 
them,  but  heeded  them  not.     The  worldling,  you  see,  never  un- 
derstands that  he  is  a  worldling.     Nor  does  Dives  believe  himself 
to  be  anything  more  than  Lazarus,  such  is  his  modesty. 

The  service  over,  they  went  home  in  silence.     They  took  their 
early  dinner  in  silence,  waited  on  by  the  solemn  man -servant. 


64  THE    IVORY    GATE 

After  dinner,  Elsie  sought  tlie  solitude  of  her  studio.  And  here 
— nobody  looking  on — she  obeyed  the  first  law  of  her  sex,  and 
had  a  good  cry.  Even  the  most  resolute  of  maidens  cannot  carry 
through  a  great  scheme  against  great  opposition  without  the  con- 
solation of  a  cry. 

On  the  table  lay  a  note  from  Mr.  Dering : 

"  My  dear  Warp, — I  am  reminded  that  you  come  of  age  on  Monday.  I 
am  also  reminded  by  Hilda  that  you  propose  to  take  a  very  important  step 
against  the  wish  of  your  mother.  Will  you  come  and  see  me  at  ten  o'clock 
to  talk  this  over?  Your  affectionate  guardian." 

Not  much  hope  to  be  got  out  of  that  letter.  A  dry  note  from 
a  dry  man.  Very  little  doubt  as  to  the  line  which  he  would  take. 
Yet,  not  an  unkind  letter.  She  put  it  back  in  her  desk,  and 
sighed.  Another  long  discussion.  No,  she  would  not  discuss — 
she  would  listen,  and  then  state  her  intention.  She  would  listen 
again,  and  once  more  state  her  intention. 

On  the  easel  stood  an  almost  finished  portrait  in  pastel,  exe- 
cuted from  a  photograph.  It  was  the  portrait  of  licr  guardian. 
She  had  caught — it  was  not  difficult  with  a  face  so  marked — the 
set  expression,  the  closed  lips,  the  keen  eyes,  and  the  habitual 
look  of  caution  and  watchfulness  which  become  the  characteristics 
of  a  solicitor  in  good  practice.  So  far  it  was  a  good  likeness. 
But  it  was  an  austere  face.  Elsie,  with  a  few  touches  of  her 
thumb  and  the  chalk  which  formed  her  material,  softened  the 
lines  of  the  mouth,  communicated  to  the  eyes  a  more  genial  light, 
and  to  the  face  an  expression  of  benevolence  which  certainly  had 
never  before  been  seen  upon  it. 

"There!"  she  said.  "If  you  would  only  look  like  that  to- 
morrow, instead  of  like  your  photograph,  I  should  have  no  fear 
at  all  of  what  yon  would  say.  I  would  flatter  you,  and  coax  you, 
and  cajole  you,  till  you  had  doubled  George's  salary  and  promised 
to  get  round  my  mother.  You  dear  old  man  !  You  kind  old 
man  !     You  sweet  old  man  !    I  could  kiss  you  for  your  kindness." 


THE    IVOUY    GATE  66 


CHAPTER  V 

SOMETHING    HAPPENS 

So  far  a  truly  enjoyable  Sunday.  To  sit  in  churcli  beside  her 
angry  mother,  both  going  through  the  forms  of  repentance,  char- 
ity, and  forgiveness ;  and  to  dine  together,  going  through  the  or- 
dinary forms  of  kindliness  while  one,  at  least,  was  devoured  with 
wrath — waste  of  good  roast  iamb  and  gooseberry  tart ! 

Elsie  spent  the  afternoon  in  her  studio,  where  she  sat  undis- 
turbed. People  called,  but  her  mother  received  them.  Now  that 
the  last  resolution  had  been  taken;  now  that  she  had  promised 
licr  lover  to  brave  everything  and  to  live  the  simplest  possible  life 
for  love's  sweet  sake,  she  felt  that  sinking  which  falls  upon  the 
most  courageous  when  the  boats  are  burned.  Thus  Love  makes 
loving  hearts  to  suffer. 

The  evening,  however,  made  amends.  For  then,  like  the  house- 
maid, who  mounted  the  area  stair  as  Elsie  went  down  the  front 
door-steps,  she  went  forth  to  meet  her  lover,  and  in  his  company 
forgot  all  her  fears.  They  went  to  church  together.  There  they 
sat  side  by  side,  this  church  not  having  adopted  the  barbarous 
custom  of  separating  the  sexes — a  custom  which  belongs  to  the 
time  when  women  were  monkishly  considered  unclean  creatures, 
and  the  cause,  to  most  men,  of  everlasting  suffering,  which  they 
themselves  would  most  justly  share.  This  couple  sat  hand  in 
hand ;  the  service  was  full  of  praise  and  hope  and  trust ;  the 
psalms  were  exultant,  triumphant,  jubilant;  the  sermon  was  a  ten 
minutes'  ejaculation  of  joy  and  thanks ;  there  was  a  procession 
with  banners,  to  cheer  up  the  hearts  of  the  faithful — what  is  faith 
without  a  procession  ?  Comfort  stole  back  to  Elsie's  troubled 
heart;  she  felt  less  like  an  outcast;  she  came  out  of  the  church 
with  renewed  confidence. 

It  was  still  daylight.  They  walked  round  and  round  the  near- 
est square.  Jane,  the  liouse-maid,  and  her  young  man  were  doing 
the  same  thing.      They  talked  with  confidence  and  joy  of  the 


66  THE    IVORY"    GATE 

future  before  tbcin.  Presently  the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  Elsie's 
spirits  fell  too. 

"George,"  sbe  said,  "arc  we  sclfisb — each  of  us?  Is  it  right 
for  me  to  drag  and  keep  you  down?" 

"You  will  not.  You  will  raise  mc  and  keep  me  up.  Never 
doubt  that,  Elsie.  I  am  the  selfish  one,  because  I  make  you  sacri- 
fice so  much." 

"  Oh  no — no  !  It  is  no  sacrifice  for  me.  You  must  make 
me  brave,  George,  because  I  am  told  every  day  by  lliUla  and  my 
mother  the  most  terrible  things.  I  liave  been  miserable  all  day 
long.    I  suppose  it  is  the  battle  I  had  with  my  mother  yesterday." 

"Your  mother  will  be  all  right  again  as  soon  as  the  thing  is 
done.  And  Hilda  will  come  round  too.  She  will  want  to  show 
you  her  new  carriage  and  her  newest  dress.  Nobody  admires  and 
envies  the  rich  relation  so  much  as  the  poor  relation.  That  is 
the  reason  why  the  poor  relation  is  so  much  courted  and  petted 
in  every  rich  fainilv.  We  shall  be  the  poor  relations,  you  know, 
Elsie." 

"  I  suppose  so.  Wc  must  accept  the  i)art  and  play  it  properly." 
She  spoke  gayly,  but  with  an  effort. 

"She  will  give  you  some  of  her  old  dresses.  And  she  will  ask 
us  to  some  of  her  crushes — but  we  won't  go.  Oh!  Hilda  will 
come  round.  As  for  your  mother" — he  repressed  what  he 
was  about  to  say — "  as  for  your  mother,  Elsie,  there  is  no  obsti- 
nacy so  desperate  that  it  cannot  be  softened  by  something  or 
other.  The  constant  dropping,  you  know.  Give  her  time.  If 
she  refuses  to  change — why — then  " — again  he  changed  the  words 
in  time — "  dear  child  !  we  must  make  our  own  happiness  for  our- 
selves without  our  own  folk  to  help  us." 

"  Yes,  we  will.  At  the  same  time,  George,  though  I  am  so 
valiant  in  talk,  I  confess  that  I  feel  as  low  as  a  school-boy  who  is 
going  to  be  punished." 

"My  dear  Elsie,"  said  George,  with  a  little  exasperation,  "if 
they  will  not  come  round,  let  them  stay  flat,  or  square,  or  sulky, 
or  anything.  I  can  hardly  be  expected  to  feel  very  anxious  for 
a  change  of  temper  in  people  who  have  said  so  many  hard  things 
of  me.  To-morrow,  dear,  you  shall  get  through  your  talk  with 
Mr.  Dering.  He's  as  hard  as  nails;  but  he's  a  just  man,  and  he  is 
sensible.  In  the  evening  I  will  call  for  you  at  nine,  and  you  shall 
tell  mc  what  he  said.     In  six  weeks  we  can  be  married.     I  will 


THE    IVORY    GATE  ^' 


sec  about  the  banns.  We  ^vill  find  a  lodging  somewhere,  pack  up 
our  things,  get  married,  and  move  in.  We  can't  afford  a  honej-- 
nioon,  I  am  afraid.     That  shall  come  afterwards,  when  the  ship 

coraes  home."  ^    .       , 

"Yes  When  I  am  with  you  I  fear  nothing.  It  is  when  you 
^re  cronc-when  I  sit  by  myself  in  ray  own  room,  and  know  that 
in  the  next  room  my  mother  is  brooding  over  her  wrath  and 
keepin-  it  warm-that  I  feel  so  guilty.  To-night  it  is  not  that 
I  feel  guilty  at  all-it  is  quite  the  contrary  ;  but  I  feel  as  if  some- 
thing were  going  to  happen.  •       ^         f 

"Something  is  going  to  happen,  dear.  I  am  going  to  put  a 
wedding-ring  round  this  pretty  finger." 

"When  one  savs  '  something,'  in  the  language  of  superstition 
one  means  something  bad,  something  dreadful,  something  that 
shall   stand  between    us    and    force    us    apart,  something   unex- 

^'"My  child,"  said  her  lover,  "all  the  powers  of  all  the  devils 
shall  not  force  us  apart  "-a  daring  and  comprehensive  boast. 

She  laughed  a  little,  lightened  by  words  so  brave  Here  we 
are,  dear,"  she  said,  as  they  arrived  at  the  house.  I  hink  the 
rain  means  to  come  down  in  earnest.  You  had  better  make 
haste  home.     To-morrow  evening,  at  nine,  I  will  expect  you. 

'  She  ran  li<-htly  up  the  steps,  and  rang  the  bell ;  the  door  was 
opened;  she'turned  her  head,  laughed,  waved  her  hand  to  her 

lover,  and  ran  in.  ,     ,       .      .  i 

There  was  standing  on  the  curb  beneath  the  street-lamp  a  man 
apparently  engaged  in  lighting  a  cigar.  When  the  girl  turned 
the  li^'ht'of  the  lamp  fell  full  upon  her  face.  The  man  stared  at 
her  forgetting  his  cigar  light,  which  fell  burning  from  his  hand 
into  the°  gutter.  When  the  door  shut  upon  her  he  stared  at 
George,  who,  for  his  part,  his  mistress  having  vanished,  stared  at 

the  door.  ,      ^  i    it  •     «.„ 

All  this  staring  occupied  a  period  of  at  least  half  a  minute. 
Then  George  turned,  and  walked  away;  the  man  struck  another 
li.rht.  lit  his  cigar,  and  strode  away  too,  but  in  the  same  direc- 
tion.    Presently  he  caught  up  with  George,  and  laid  a  hand  upon 

his  shoulder.  i      -.i 

"Here,  you  sir,"  he  said  gruffly;  "I  want  a  word  with  you 

before  we  go  any  further."  ,.  ,     ,    ,.i  i  i      ^ 

George  turned  upon  him  savagely.    Nobody  likes  a  heavy  hand 


68  THE    IVORY    GATE 

laid  upon  Lis  shoulder.  In  the  old  days  it  generally  meant  a  writ 
and  Whitecross  Street,  and  other  unpleasant  things. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  That  is  the  question  I  was  going — "  He  stopped  and  laughed. 
"  No — I  see  now.  I  don't  want  to  ask  it.  You  are  George  Aus- 
tin, are  you  not?" 

"That  is  my  name.  But  who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want 
with  ine?" 

The  man  was  a  stranger  to  him.  lie  was  dressed  in  a  velvet 
coat  and  a  white  waistcoat;  he  wore  a  soft  felt  hat;  and,  with 
the  velvet  jacket,  the  felt  hat,  and  a  full  beard,  he  looked  like  an 
artist  of  some  kind.  At  the  end  of  June  it  is  still  light  at  half- 
past  nine.  George  saw  that  the  man  was  a  gentleman  ;  his  feat- 
ures, strongly  marked  and  clear  cut,  reminded  him  of  something 
— but  vaguely  ;  they  gave  hitn  the  common  feeling  of  having  been 
seen  or  known  at  some  remote  period.  The  man  looked  about 
thirty,  the  time  when  the  physical  man  is  at  his  best;  he  was  of 
good  height,  well  set  up,  and  robust.  Something,  no  doubt,  in 
the  art  world,  or  something  that  desired  to  appear  as  if  belong- 
ing to  the  art  world.  Because,  you  see,  the  artists  themselves 
are  not  so  picturesque  as  those  who  would  be  artists  if  they 
could.  The  unsuccessful  artist,  certainly,  is  sometimes  a  most 
picturesque  creature.  So  is  the  model.  The  rags  and  duds  and 
threadbarity  too  often  enter  largely  into  the  picturesque.  So  with 
the  plough-boy's  dinner  under  the  hedge  or  the  cotter's  Saturday 
night.  And  the  village  beer-shop  may  make  a  very  fine  picture, 
but  the  artist  himself  does  not  partake  in  those  simple  joys. 

"  Well,  sir,  who  are  you  ?"  George  repeated,  as  the  other  man 
made  no  reply. 

"  Do  you  not  remember  me  ?  I  am  waiting  to  give  you  a 
chance." 

"  No — certainly  not." 

"Consider.  That  house  into  which  you  have  just  taken  my — 
a  young  lady — does  it  not  connect  itself  with  me?" 

"  No.     Why  should  it  ?" 

"  Then  T  suppose  that  I  am  completely  forgotten  ?" 

"  It  is  very  strange.     I  seem  to  recall  your  voice." 

"  I  will  tell  you  who  I  ^m  by  another  question.  George  Aus- 
tin, what  in  thunder  are  you  doing  with  my  sister?" 

"  Your  sister  ?"    George  jumped  up,  and  stared.    "  Your  sister  ? 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


69 


Arc  yon— arc  you  Athclstan  come  home  again  ?    Really  and  truly 

"  I  am  really  and  truly  Athclstan.  I  have  been  back  in  Eng- 
land about  a  fortnight." 

"  You  are  Athclstan  ?"  George  looked  at  him  curiously.  ^^  lien 
the  reputed  black  sheep  comes  home  again  it  is  generally  in  rags, 
with  a  loner  story  of  fortune's  persecutions.  This  man  was  not  in 
the  least  nto-ged.  On  the  contrary,  he  looked  prosperous.  ^\  hat 
had  he  been'tloing  i  For  although  Elsie  continued  passionate  in 
her  belief  in  her  brother's  innocence,  everybody  else  believed  that 
he  had  run  away  to  escape  consequences,  and  George  among  the 
number  had  accepted  that  belief. 

"  Your  beard  alters  you  greatly.  I  sliould  not  have  known  you. 
To  be  sure,  it  is  eight  vears  since  I  saw  yon  last,  and  I  was  only 
just  beginning  my  articles  when  you-left  us."  Ue  was  on  the 
point  of  saying,  "  when  you  ran  away." 

"There  is  a  good  deal  to  talk  about.     Will  you  come  with  me 
to  mv  rooms?     I  am  putting  up  in  Half  Moon  Street." 
Athclstan  hailed  a  passing  hansom,  and  they  drove  off. 
"You  have  been  a  fortnight  in  London,"^said  George,  "and  yet 
you  have  not  been  to  see  your  own  people." 

"  I  have  been  eight  years  away,  and  yet  I  have  not  written  a 
sino-le  letter  to  my  own  people?" 

Georo-e  asked  no  more  questions.     Arrived  at  the  lodging,  they 
went  inland  sat  down.     Athclstan  produced  soda- and -whiskey 

and  cigars.  .   ,    w      *     i 

"Why  have  I  not  called  upon  my  own  people?  — Atlielstan  tooli 
up  the  question  again—"  because,  when  I  left  home  I  swore  that  I 
would  never  return  until  they  came  to  bog  forgiveness.  That  is  why. 
Every  evening  I  have  been  walking  outside  the  house,  in  the  hope 
of  seeincr  some  of  them  without  their  seeing  me.     For,  you  sec,  I 
should  like  to  go  home  ac;ain  ;  but  I  will  not  go  as  I  went  away, 
under  a  shameful  cloud.   That  has  got  to  be  lifted  first.   Presently  I 
shall  know  whether  it  is  lifted.    Then  I  shall  know  how  to  act.    To- 
nicrht  I  was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  my  sister  Elsie,  walking  home 
wiUi  you.     I  knew  her  at  once.     She  is  taller  than  I  thought  she 
would  become  when  I  went  away.    Her  face  hasn't  changed  much, 
Ihourrh.    She  always  had  the  gift  of  sweet  looks,  which  isn't  quite 
llie  same  thing  as  beauty.    My  sister  Hilda,  for  instance,  was  always 
called  u  handsome  girl.'but  she  never  had  Elsie's  sweet  looks." 


VO  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  She  has  the  sweetest  looks  in  the  world." 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  her,  George  Austin,  I  ask  again  ?" 

'*  We  are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Married  ?  Elsie  married  ?  Why — she's — well,  I  suppose  she 
must  be  grown  up  by  this  time." 

"Elsie  is  very  nearly  one-and-twenty.  She  will  be  twenty-one 
to-morrow." 

"Elsie  going  to  be  married.  It  seems  absurd.  One-and-twen- 
ty to-morrow.  Ah  !"  He  sat  up  eagerly.  "Tell  me,  is  she  any 
richer?     lias  she  had  any  legacies  or  things?" 

"No.  IIow  should  she?  Iler  dot  is  her  sweet  self,  which  is 
enough  for  any  man." 

"And  you,  Austin  ?  I  remember  you  were  an  articled  clerk  of 
eighteen  or  nineteen  when  I  went  away — are  you  rich?" 

Austin  blushed.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not.  I  am  a  manag- 
ing clerk  at  your  old  ofTice.  I  get  two  hundred  a  year,  and  we 
are  going  to  marry  on  that." 

Athelstan  nodded.  "  A  bold  thing  to  do.  However —  Twen- 
ty-one to-morrow — we  shall  sec." 

"  And  I  am  sorry  to  say  there  is  the  greatest  opposition — on 
the  part  of  your  mother  and  your  other  sister.  I  am  not  allowed 
in  the  house,  and  Elsie  is  treated  as  a  rebel." 

"  Oh,  well !  If  you  see  your  way,  my  boy,  get  married,  and 
liave  a  happy  life,  and  leave  them  to  come  round  at  their  leisure. 
Elsie  has  a  heart  of  gold.  She  can  believe  in  a  man.  She  is  the 
only  one  of  my  people  who  stood  up  for  me  when  they  accused 
me,  without  a  shadow  of  proof,  of —  The  only  one — the  only 
one.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  forget  that — and  difficult,"  he 
added,  "to  forgive  the  other  thing.  Is  my  sister  Hilda  still  at 
home?" 

"No.  She  is  married  to  Sir  Samuel,  brother  of  your  Mr.  Ber- 
ing.    He  is  a  great  deal  older  than  his  wife — but  he  is  very  rich." 

"Oh!     And  my  mother?" 

"I  believe  she  continues  in  good  health.  I  am  not  allowed  the 
privilege  of  calling  upon  her." 

"And  my  old  chief ?" 

"  He  also  continues  well." 

"And  now,  since  we  have  cleared  the  ground  so  far,  let  us  come 
to  business.     How  about  that  robbery  ?" 

"  W^hat  robbery  ?"      The  old  business  had  taken  place  when 


11 

THE    IVOUY    GATE 


George  «a,  a  lad  jvist  entering  upon  Ins  artieles.     Ue  l-ad  eeascd 

'"  "'wLuobbe,).  ?  Man  alive  !"-Atl,elstan  sprang  to  Ms  feet- 
"  there  is  only  on  robbery  to  n,e  in  the  wbole  b.story  of  the  wo  Id 
si  ee  "In  and  robberies  began.  Whatrobbery-  /-""k  here  as  e 
George  Austin,»hen  a  ,nan  is  eharged  »,tl,  .nurder  the  e  .s  fo  that 
„,an  only  one  ranrder  in  the  whole  history  of  the  world.  Al  the 
other  murders,  even  that  of  Abel  himself,  are  of  no  eoneern  at  all 
-Zol  bit.  lie  isn't  interested  in  them.  They  don't  matter  to 
him  a  red  e  nt.  That's  mv  ease.  The  robbery  of  eight  years  ago, 
wWeh  tool  a  few  hnndred  pounds  fron,  a  rieh  nuu,,  ehanged  n,y 
:  le  m ;  it  drove  me  out  into  the  world ;  it  foreed  me  for  a  ,,ne 
to  live  among  the  prodigals  and  the  swme  and  the  husU  It  l^mded 
me  over  to  a  thousand  devils,  and  you  ask  me  what  robbery! 

"T  am  very  sorrv.     It  is  now  a  forgotten  Uung.     Nobody  re- 
memb;rs  it  any  n,Jre.     I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Der.ng  hunself  ever 

"'■'"'tve"!  what  was  diseovered,  after  all !     Who  did  it  V 

"No°hh,g  at  all  has  been  diseovered.     No  one  knows  to  th« 

'"^-M,tg  at'alH     I  am  disappointed.     Hasn't  old  Cheekley 

(lone  time  for  it?     Nothing  found  out  ? 

"n  h  n..  The  notes  ^ere  stopped  in  time,  and  were  ne^•er 
presented.  ^After  a  few  years  the  Bank  ^[^^.^J^;^ 
Denng  notes  in  the  plaee  of  those  stolen.     And  that  i.  all  there 

''  '^Nothin-  discovered !    And  the  notes  never  presented  ?   What 
good  did  the  fellow  get  by  it,  then  ?"  ^^ 

"  I  don't  know,  but  nothing  was  discovered. 

"Nothing  diseovered,"  Athelstan  repeated.     "  ^^  h)    I  took  it 

for  granted^hat  the  truth  had  come  out  long  s.nce.     I  ^^^'^'■^ 

n'  up  my  mind  to  call  upon  old  Dering-I  don  t  think  I  shall 

go'now     And  my  sister  Hilda  will  not  be  coming  here  to  express 

her  contrition— I  am  disappointed/ 

"  You  can  sec  Elsie  if  yoa  like."  .      „j 

4es-I  can  see  her,"  he  repeated.     "George   -  e  returned 
to  the  old  subject-"  do  you  know  the  exact  particulars  of  that 

'' 'J^There  was  a  forged  check,  and  the  bank  paid  it  across  the 
counter." 


72  THE   IVORY    GATE 

*'  The  clieck,"  Athelstan  explained,  "  was  made  payable  to  the 
order  of  a  certain  unknown  person  named  Edmund  Gray.  It  was 
endorsed  by  that  name.  To  prove  that  forgery  they  should  have 
got  the  check  and  examined  the  endorsement.  That  was  the  first 
thing,  certainly.     I  wonder  how  they  began." 

"  1  do  not  know.  It  was  while  I  was  in  my  articles,  and  all 
we  heard  was  a  vague  report.  You  ought  not  to  have  gone  away. 
You  should  liave  stayed  to  fight  it  out." 

"I  was  right  to  give  u[)  my  berth  after  what  the  chief  said. 
IIow  could  I  remain,  drawing  his  pay  and  doing  liis  work,  when 
he  had  calmly  given  me  to  understand  that  the  forgery  lay  be- 
tween two  hands,  and  that  he  strongly  suspected  mine!" 

"Did  Mr.  Doring  really  say  so?     Did  he  go  so  far  as  that?" 

"So  I  walked  out  of  the  place.  I  should  liave  stayed  at  home, 
and  waited  for  the  clearing-up  of  the  thing,  but  for  my  own  [teo- 
ple — who — well,  you  know —     So  I  went  away  in  a  rage." 

"And  have  you  come  back — as  you  went — in  a  rage?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  that  is  the  kind  of  fire  that  keeps  alight  of  its 
own  accord." 

"  I  believe  that  some  sort  of  a  search  was  made  for  tliis  Ed- 
mund Gray,  but  I  do  not  know  how  long  it  lasted  or  who  was 
employed." 

"  Detectives  arc  no  good.  Perhaps  the  chief  didn't  care  to 
press  the  business.  Perhaps  he  learned  enough  to  be  satisfied 
that  Checkley  was  the  man.  Perhaps  he  was  unwilling  to  lose 
an  old  servant.  Pcriiaps  the  villain  confessed  the  thing.  It  all 
comes  back  to  me  fresh  and  clear,  though  for  eight  long  years  I 
have  not  talked  with  a  soul  about  it." 

"Tell  me,"  said  George,  a  little  out  of  sympathy  with  this 
dead-and-buried  forgery — "tell  me  wliere  you  have  been,  what 
you  have  done,  and  what  you  are  doing  now?" 

"Presently — presently,"  he  replied,  with  impatience.  "I  am 
sure  now  that  I  was  wrong.  I  should  not  have  left  the  country. 
I  should  have  taken  a  lodging  openly,  and  waited  and  looked  on. 
Yes,  that  would  have  been  better.  Then  I  should  have  seen  that 
old  villain,  Checkley,  in  the  dock.  Perhaps  it  is  not  yet  too  late. 
Still — eight  years.  Who  can  expect  a  commissionaire  to  remem- 
ber a  single  message  after  eight  years?" 

"  Well — and  now  tell  me,"  George  said  again,  "  what  you  have 
been  doinc;." 


THE    IVORV    GATE  '^ 

"The  black  Sheep  always  turns  up,  doesn't  he?  You  learn  at 
home  that  he  has  got  a  berth  in  the  Rocky  Mountains;  but  he 
iacks  it  up,  and  goes  to  Melbourne  where  he  falls  on  his  feet;  but 
gets  tired,  and  moves  on  to  New  Zealand  and  so  home  agam.     It  s 

the  regular  round."  ,  .     ,      i     u-f„ 

"  You  are  apparently  the  black  sheep  whose  wool  is  dyed  white. 
There  are  threads  of  gold  in  it.     You  look  prosperous." 

"  A  few  years  aero  I  was  actually  in  the  possession  of  money. 
Then  I  became  poor  again.  After  a  good  many  adventures  I  be- 
came a  iournalist.  The  profession  is  in  America  the  refuge  of  tbe 
educated  unsuccessful  and  the  hope  of  the  uneducated  unsuccess- 
ful I  am  doin<^  as  well  as  journalists  in  America  generally^  do. 
I  am  over  here  as  the  representative  of  a  Frisco  paper,  and  I  ex- 
pect to  stay  for  some  time-so  long  as  I  can  be  of  service  to  my 
people.     That's  all." 

»\vcii_it  might  be  a  great  deal  worse.  And  won  t  yon  come 
to  Pembridge  S'luare  with  me?" 

"  When  the  cloud  is  lifted— not  before.  And-George-not  a 
word  about  me.     Don't  tell— yet— even  Elsie." 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOMETHING    MORE    HAPPENS 

Checkley  held  the  door  of  the  office  wide  open,  and  invited 
Elsie  to  enter.  The  aspect  of  the  room,  solid  of  furniture,  severe 
in  its  fittings,  with  its  vast  table  covered  with  papers,  struck  her 
with  a  kin'd  of  terror.  At  the  table  sat  her  guardian,  austere  of 
countenance. 

All  the  way  along  she  had  been  imagining  a  dialogue,  lie 
would  begin  with  certain  words.  She  would  reply,  firmly  but 
respectfuUy,  with  certain  other  words.  lie  would  go  on.  She 
would  again  reply.  And  so  on.  Everybody  knows  the  consola- 
tions of^ imagination  in  framing  dialogues  at  times  of  trouble. 
They  never  come  off.  The  beginning  is  never  what  is  expected, 
and' the  sequel,  therefore,  has  to  be  changed  on  the  spot.  The 
conditions  of  the  interview  had  not  been  realized  by  Elsie.  Also 
4 


74  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  beginning  was  not  what  she  expected.  For  her  guardian,  in- 
stead of  frowning  with  a  brow  of  corrugated  iron  and  holding  up 
a  finger  of  warning,  received  her  raore  pleasantly  than  she  had 
imagined  it  possible  for  him,  bade  her  sit  down,  and  leaned  back, 
looking  at  her  kindly. 

"  And  so,"  he  said,  "  you  are  twenty-one — twenty-one — to-day. 
I  am  no  longer  your  guardian.  You  arc  twenty-one.  Everything 
that  is  past  seeras  to  have  happened  yesterday.  So  that  it  is 
needless  to  say  that  you  were  a  baby  only  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  I  am  really  twenty-one." 

"  I  congratulate  you.  To  be  twenty-one  is,  I  believe,  for  a 
young  lady  at  least,  a  pleasant  time  of  life.  For  my  own  part  I 
have  almost  forgotten  the  memory  of  youth.  Perhaps  I  never 
liad  the  lime  to  be  young.  Certainly  1  have  never  understood 
why  some  men  regret  their  youth  so  passionately.  As  for  your 
se.x,  Elsie,  I  know  very  little  of  it  except  in  the  way  of  business. 
In  that  way,  which  docs  not  admit  of  romance,  I  must  say  that 
I  have  sometimes  found  ladies  imj)ortunate,  tenacious,  exacting, 
persistent,  and  even  revengeful." 

"Oh!"  said  Elsie,  with  a  little  winning  smile  of  conciliation. 
This  was  only  a  beginning — a  prelude — before  the  unpleasant- 
ness. 

"That,  Elsie,  is  my  unfortunate  experience  of  women — always 
in  the  way  of  business,  which,  of  course,  may  bring  out  the  worst 
qualities.  In  society,  of  which  I  have  little  experience,  they  arc 
doubtless  charming — charming."  He  repeated  the  word,  as  if 
be  had  found  an  adjective  of  whose  meaning  he  was  not  quite 
clear.  "  An  old  bachelor  is  not  expected,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
five,  to  know  much  about  such  a  subject.  The  point  before  us 
is  that  you  have  this  day  arrived  at  the  mature  age  of  twenty- 
one.  That  is  the  first  thing,  and  I  congratulate  you — the  first 
thing." 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Elsie  timidly,  "  when  he  will  begin  upon 
the  next  thing — the  real  thing." 

There  lay  upon  the  table  before  him  a  paper  with  notes  upon 
it.  He  took  it  up,  looked  at  it,  and  laid  it  down  again.  Then 
he  turned  to  Elsie,  and  smiled — he  actually  smiled — he  unmistak- 
ably smiled.  "  At  twenty-one,"  he  said,  "  some  young  ladies 
who  are  heiresses  come  into  their  property — " 

"Those  who  are  heiresses.     Unhappily,  I  am  not." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  76 

"Come  into  their  property  —  their  property.  It  must  be  a 
beautiful  thing  for  a  girl  to  come  into  property,  unexpectedly,  at 
twenty-one.  For  a  man,  a  temptation  to  do  nothing  and  to  make 
no  more  money.  Bad  !  Bad  !  But  for  a  girl  already  engaged, 
a  girl  who  wants  money,  a  girl  who  is  engaged — ch  1  —  to  a  pen- 
niless young  solicitor — " 

Elsie  turned  crimson.     This  was  the  thing  she  expected. 

"  Under  such  circumstances,  I  say,  such  a  stroke  of  fortune 
would  be  providential  and  wonderful,  would  it  not?" 

She  blushed,  and  turned  pale,  and  blushed  again.  She  also  felt 
a  strong  disposition  to  cry,  but  repressed  that  disposition. 

"  In  your  case,  for  instance,  such  a  windfall  would  be  most 
welcome.  Your  case  is  rather  a  singular  case.  You  do  not  be- 
long to  a  family  which  has  generally  disregarded  money — quite 
the  reverse ;  you  should  inherit  the  love  of  money — yet  you  pro- 
pose to  throw  away  what  I  believe  arc  very  good  prospects, 
and—" 

"  My  only  prospect  is  to  marry  George  Austin." 

"  So  you  think.  I  have  heard  from  your  mother,  and  I  have 
seen  your  sister  Hilda.  They  object  very  strongly  to  the  engage- 
ment." 

"  I  know,  of  course,  what  they  would  say." 

"  Therefore  I  need  not  repeat  it,"  replied  Mr.  Bering  dryly. 
"  I  learn,  then,  that  you  are  not  only  engaged  to  this  young 
gentleman,  but  that  you  are  also  proposing  to  marry  upon  the 
small  income  which  he  now  possesses." 

"Yes — we  are  prepared  to  begin  tlie  world  upon  that  in- 
come." 

"  Your  mother  asked  me  what  chance  he  has  in  his  profession. 
In  this  office  he  can  never  rise  to  a  considerable  salary  as  manag- 
ing clerk.  If  he  had  money  he  might  buy  a  partnership.  But 
he  has  none,  and  his  friends  have  none.  And  the  profession  is 
congested,  lie  may  remain  all  his  life  in  a  position  not  much 
better  than  he  now  occupies.    The  prospect,  Elsie,  is  not  brilliant." 

"  No — we  are  fully  aware  of  that.     And  yet — " 

"  Allow  me,  my  dear  child.  Yeu  are  yourself — we  will  say  for 
the  moment — without  any  means  of  your  own." 

"  I  have  nothing." 

'•  Or  any  expectations,  except  from  your  mother,  who  is  not 
yet  sixty." 


76  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"I  could  not  count  upon  my  mother's  death.  Besides,  she 
says  that,  if  I  persist,  she  will  not  leave  me  anytliing  at  all." 

"So  much  I  understand  from  herself.  Her  present  intention 
is  to  remove  your  name  from  her  will  in  case  you  go  on  with  this 
proposed  marriage."" 

"  My  mother  will  do  what  she  pleases  with  her  property,"  said 
Elsie.  "  If  she  thinks  that  1  will  give  way  to  a  threat  of  this  kind 
she  does  not  know  me." 

"  Do  not  let  us  speak  of  threats.  I  am  laying  before  you  facts. 
Here  they  arc  plainly.  Young  Austin  has  a  very  small  income; 
he  has  very  little  prospect  of  getting  a  substantial  income;  you, 
so  far  as  you  know,  have  nothing;  and  also,  so  far  as  you  know, 
you  have  no  prospect  of  anything.  These  arc  the  facts,  are  they 
not?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  those  arc  the  facts.  We  shall  be  quite  poor 
— very  likely  quite  poor  always."  The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes, 
but  this  was  not  a  place  for  crying. 

*'  I  want  you  to  understand  these  facts  very  clearly,"  Mr.  Dering 
insisted.     "  Believe  me,  I  do  not  wish  to  give  you  pain." 

*'A11  this,"  said  Elsie,  with  the  beginnings  of  the  family  ob- 
stinacy in  her  eyes,  "  I  clearly  understand.  I  have  bad  them  put 
before  me  too  often." 

"  I  also  learn  from  your  sister,  Lady  Dering,  that  if  you  aban- 
don this  marriage  she  is  ready  to  do  anything  for  you  that  she 
can.  Iler  liouse,  her  carriage,  her  servants — you  can  command 
them  all,  if  you  please.  This  you  know.  Have  you  consid- 
ered the  meaning  of  what  you  propose?  Can  you  consider  it 
calmly  ?" 

"  I  believe  we  have." 

*'  On  the  one  side  poverty — not  what  is  called  a  small  income 
— many  people  live  very  well  on  what  is  called  a  small  income 
— but  grinding,  bard  povert}',  which  exacts  real  privations  and 
burdens  you  with  unexpected  loads.  My  dear  young  lady,  you 
have  been  brought  up  to  a  certain  amount  of  plenty  and  ease,  if 
not  to  luxury.  Do  you  think  you  can  get  along  without  plenty 
and  ease  ?" 

"  If  George  can,  I  can." 

"Can  you  become  a  servant — cook,  house-maid,  lady's-maid — 
as  well  as  a  wife — a  nurse  as  well  as  a  mother?" 

"  If  George  is  made  happier  by  my  becoming  anything — any- 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


77 


thing— it  will  only  make  me  happier.  Mr.  Deriniv,  I  am  sure  you 
wislTme  well— you  are  my  father's  old  friend,  you  have  always 
advised  my  mother  in  her  troubles,  my  brother  was  articled  to 
you— but— "  She  paused,  remembering  that  he  had  not  been 
her  brother's  best  friend. 

"  I  mean  the  best  possible  for  you.  Meantime,  you  are  quite 
fixed  in  your  own  mind ;  you  are  set  upon  this  thing— that  is 
clear.  There  is  one  other  way  of  looking  at  it.  You  yourself 
seem  chiefly  desirous,  I  think,  to  make  the  man  you  love  happy. 
So  much  the  better  for  him.  Are  you  quite  satisfied  that  the 
other  party  to  the  agreement— your  lover— will  remain  happy 
while  he  sees  you  slaving  for  him,  while  he  feels  his  own  helpless- 
ness, and  while  he  gets  no  relief  from  the  grinding  poverty  of 
his  household ;  while— lastly— he  sees  his  sons  taking  their  place 
on  a  lower  level,  and  his  daughters  taking  a  place  below  the  rank 
of  gentlewomen  ?" 

"  I  reply  by  another  question.  You  have  had  George  in  your 
office  as  articled  clerk  and  managing  clerk  for  eight  years.  Is 
he,  or  is  he  not,  steadfast,  clear-headed,  one  who  knows  his  own 
mind,  and  one  who  can  be  trusted  in  all  things?'' 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Bering,  inclining  his  head.  "  Uow  does 
that  advance  him  ?" 

"  Then,  if  you  trust  hitn,  why  should  not  I  trust  him  ?  I  trust 
George  altogether— altogether.  If  he  does  not  get  on  it  will  be 
through  no  fault  of  his.  We  shall  bear  our  burdens  bravely,  be- 
lieve me,  Mr.  Bering.  You  will  not  hear  him— or  me— complain. 
Besides,  I  am  full  of  hope.  Oh  !  it  can  never  be  in  this  country 
tliat  a  man  who  is  a  good  workman  should  not  be  able  to  get  on. 
Then,  I  can  paint  a  little— not  very  well,  perhaps;  but  I  have 
thought— you  will  not  laugh  at  me— that  I  might  paint  portraits, 
and  get  a  little  money  that  way." 

"It  is  quite  possible  that  he  may  succeed,  and  that- you  may 
increase  the  family  income.  Everything  is  possible.  But,  re- 
member, you  are  building  on  possibilities,  and  I  on  facts.  Plans 
very  beautiful  and  easy  at  the  outset  often  prove  most  difficult  in 
the  carrying-out.  My  experience  of  marriages  is  learned  by  fifty 
years  of  work — not  imaginative,  but  practical.  I  have  learned  that 
without  adequate  means  no  marriage  can  be  happy.  That  is  to 
sav,  I  have  never  come  across  any  case  of  wedded  poverty  where 
the  husband  or  the  wife,  or  both,  did  not  regret  the  day  when 


78  THE    IVORY    GATE 

they  faced  poverty  togetbcr  instead  of  separately.  That,  I  say, 
is  my  experience  of  such  marriages.  It  is  so  easy  to  say  that 
hand-in-hand  evils  may  be  met  and  endured  which  would  be  in- 
tolerable if  one  was  alone.  It  isn't  only  liand-in-hand,  Elsie. 
The  liands  are  wanted  for  the  baby,  and  the  evils  will  fall  on  the 
children  yet  unborn." 

Elsie  hung  her  head.  Then  she  replied,  timidly,  "  I  have 
thought  even  of  that.  It  only  means  that  we  go  lower  down  in 
the  social  scale." 

"  Only  ?  Yet  that  is  everything.  People  who  are  well  up  the 
ladder  too  often  deride  those  who  are  fighting  and  struggling  to 
get  up  higher.  It  is  great  folly  or  groat  ignorance  to  laugh. 
Social  position,  in  such  a  country  as  ours,  means  independence, 
self-respect,  dignity,  all  kinds  of  valuable  things.  You  will  throw 
these  all  away — yet  your  grandfathers  won  them  for  you  by  hard 
work.  You  are  yourself  a  gentlewoman — why  ?  Because  they 
made  their  way  up  in  the  world,  and  placed  their  sons  also  in  the 
way  to  climb.  That  is  how  families  arc  made — by  three  genera- 
tions at  least  of  steady  work  uphill." 

Elsie  shook  lier  head  sadly.  "  We  can  only  hope,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  One  more  word,  and  I  will  say  no  more.  Remember  that, 
love  or  no  love,  resignation  or  not,  patience  or  not,  physical  com- 
fort is  the  beginning  and  the  foundation  of  all  happiness.  If  you 
and  your  husband  can  satisfy  the  demands  of  physical  comfort 
you  may  be  happy — or  at  least  resigned.  If  not —  "Well,  Elsie, 
that  is  all.  I  should  not  have  said  so  much  had  I  not  promised 
your  mother  and  your  sister.  I  am  touched,  I  confess,  by  your 
courage  and  your  resolution." 

"  We  mean  never  to  regret,  never  to  look  back,  and  always  to 
work  and  hope,"  said  Elsie.  "  You  will  remain  our  friend,  Mr. 
Dering  ?" 

"  Surely,  surely.     And  now — " 

*'  Now  " — Elsie  rose — "  I  will  not  keep  you  any  longer.  You 
have  said  what  you  wished  to  say  very  kindly,  and  I  thank 
you." 

"  No.  Sit  down  again  ;  I  haven't  done  with  you  yet,  child. 
Sit  down  again.  No  more  about  that  young  villain — George 
Austin."  He  spoke  so  good- huraoredly  that  Elsie  complied, 
wondering,  but  no  longer  afraid.     "  Nothing  more  about  your 


THE    IVORY    GATE  79 

engagement.  Now,  listen  carefully,  because  this  is  most  impor- 
tant. Three  or  four  years  ago  a  person  wrote  to  me.  That  per- 
son informed  me  that  he — for  convenience  we  will  call  the  person 
a  man — wished  to  place  a  certain  sum  of  money  in  my  hands  in 
trust  for  you." 

"Forme?     Do  you  mean — intrust?     What  is  trust?" 

"  Ue  gave  me  this  sum  of  money  to  be  given  to  you  on  your 
twenty-first  birthday." 

"Oh  !"  Elsie  sat  up  with  open  eyes.  "A  sum  of  money? — 
and  to  me  ?" 

"  With  a  condition  or  two.  The  first  condition  was,  that  the 
interest  should  be  invested  as  it  came  in ;  the  next,  that  I  was  on 
no  account — mind,  on  no  account  at  all — to  tell  you  or  any  one 
of  the  existence  of  the  gift  or  the  name  of  the  donor.  You  are 
now  twenty-one.  I  have  been  careful  not  to  afford  you  the  least 
suspicion  of  this  happy  windfall  until  the  time  should  arrive. 
Neither  your  mother,  nor  your  sister,  nor  your  lover,  knows  or 
suspects  anything  about  it." 

"Oh!"  Elsie  said  once  more.  An  interjection  may  be  defined 
as  a  prolonged  monosyllable,  generally  a  vowel,  uttered  when  no 
words  can  do  justice  to  the  subject. 

"And  here,  my  dear  young  lady" — Elsie  cried  "Oh!"  once 
more,  because — the  most  curious  thing  in  the  world — Mr.  Bering's 
grave  face  suddenly  relaxed,  and  the  lines  assumed  the  very  be- 
nevolence which  she  had,  the  day  before,  imparted  to  his  portrait 
and  wished  to  see  upon  his  face — "here,  my  dear  young  lady" 
— he  laid  his  hand  upon  a  paper — "  is  the  list  of  the  investments 
which  I  have  made  of  that  money.  You  have,  in  fact,  money 
in  corporation  bonds — Newcastle,  Nottingham,  Wolverhampton. 
You  have  water  shares — you  have  gas  shares — all  good  invest- 
ments, yielding  at  the  price  of  purchase  an  average  of  nearly 
three  and  two-thirds  per  cent." 

"  Investments?  Why — how  much  money  was  it,  then  ?  I  was 
thinking,  when  you  spoke  of  a  sum  of  money,  of  ten  pounds, 
perhaps." 

"No,  Elsie,  not  ten  pounds.  The  money  placed  in  my  hands 
for  your  use  was  over  twelve  thousand  pounds.  With  accumula- 
tions, there  is  now  a  little  under  thirteen  thousand." 

"Oh !"  cried  Elsie,  for  the  third  time  and  for  the  same  reason. 
No  words  could  express  her  astonishment. 


80  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"Yes;  it  will  produce  about  four  hundred  and  eighty  pounds 
a  year.  Perhaps,  as  some  of  the  stock  has  gone  up,  it  might  be 
sold  out  and  placed  to  better  advantage.  We  may  get  it  up  to 
five  hundred  pounds." 

"Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Dcring,  that  I  have  actually  got  five  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year — all  my  own  ?'' 

"That  is  certainly  my  meaning.  You  have  nearly  five  hundred 
pounds  a  year  all  your  own — entirely  your  own,  without  any  con- 
ditions whatever — your  own." 

"Oh!"'  She  sat  in  silence,  her  hands  locked.  Then  the  tears 
came  into  her  eyes.  "Oh,  George!"  she  murmured,  "you  will 
not  be  so  very  poor  after  all." 

"That  is  all  I  have  to  say  to  you  at  present,  Elsie,"  said  Mr. 
Bering.  "Now  you  may  run  away  and  leave  me.  Come  to 
dinner  this  evening.  Your  mother  and  your  sister  are  coming. 
I  shall  ask  Austin  as  well.  We  may,  perhaps,  remove  some  of 
those  objections.  Dinner  at  seven  sharp,  Elsie.  And  now  you 
can  leave  me." 

"I  said  last  night,"  said  Elsie,  clasping  her  hands  with  femi- 
nine superstition,  "that  something  was  going  to  happen,  but  I 
thought  it  was  something  horrid.  Oh !  Mr.  Dering,  if  you  only 
knew  how  happy  you  have  made  me !  I  don't  know  what  to 
say.  I  feel  stunned.  Five  hundred  pounds  a  year!  Oh!  it  is 
wonderful !     What  shall  I  say  ?     What  shall  I  say  ?" 

"You  will  say  nothing.  Go  away  now.  Come  to  dinner 
this  evening.  Go  away,  my  young  heiress.  Go,  and  make  plans 
how  to  live  on  your  enlarged  income.  It  will  not  prove  too 
much." 

Elsie  rose.  Then  she  turned  again.  "  Oh  I  I  had  actually  for- 
gotten. Won't  you  tell  the  man — or  the  woman — who  gave  you 
that  money  for  me  that  I  thank  him  from  my  very  heart?  It 
isn't  that  I  think  so  much  about  money  ;  but,  oh  !  the  dreadful 
trouble  that  there  has  been  at  home  because  George  has  none — 
and  this  will  do  something  to  reconcile  my  mother.  Don't  you 
think  it  will  make  all  the  difference?" 

"I  hope  that  before  the  evening  you  will  find  that  all  opposi- 
tion has  been  removed,"  said  her  guardian  cautiously. 

She  walked  away  in  a  dream.  She  found  herself  in  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields;  she  walked  all  round  that  great  square,  also  in  a 
dream.      The  spectre  of  poverty  had  vanished.      She  was  rich ; 


THE    IVORY    GATE  81 

she  was  rich — she  liad  fire  hundred  pounds  a  year.  Between 
them  tliey  would  have  seven  hundred  pounds  a  year.  It  seemed 
enormous.  Seven  hundred  pounds  a  year!  Seven — seven — seven 
hundred  pounds  a  year  ! 

Slie  got  out  into  the  street  called  Holborn,  and  she  took  the 
modest  omnibus,  this  heiress  of  untold  wealth.  How  much  was 
it?  Thirteen  millions?  or  thirteen  thousand?  One  seemed  as 
much  as  tlie  other.  Twelve  thousand,  with  accumulations;  with 
accumulations  —  ations  —  ations.  The  wheels  of  the  vehicle 
groaned  out  these  musical  words  all  the  way.  It  was  in  the 
raorning,  when  the  Bayswater  omnibus  is  full  of  girls  going  home 
to  lunch  after  shopping  or  looking  at  the  shops.  Elsie  looked  at 
these  girls  as  they  sat  along  the  narrow  benches.  "  My  dears," 
she  longed  to  say,  but  did  not,  "I  hope  you  have  every  one  got 
a  brave  lover,  and  that  you  have  all  got  twelve  thousand  pounds 
apiece — with  accumulations — twelve  tliousand  pounds — with  ac- 
cumulations— ations — ations — realizing  four  liundred  and  eighty 
pounds  a  year,  and  perliaps  a  little  more.  AVith  accumulations — 
ations — ations — accumulations." 

She  ran  into  the  house  and  up  the  stairs,  singing.  At  the 
sound  of  her  voice  her  mother,  engaged  in  calculations  of  the 
greatest  difficulty,  paused,  wondering.  When  she  understood 
that  it  was  the  voice  of  her  child  and  not  an  organ-grinder,  she 
became  angry.  What  right  had  the  girl  to  run  about  singing? 
Was  it  insolent  bravado  ? 

Elsie  opened  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  and  ran  in.  Iler 
mother's  cold  face  repelled  her.  She  was  going  to  tell  tlie  joyful 
news,  but  she  stopped. 

"You  have  seen  Mr.  Dcring?"  asked  her  mother, 
"Yes;  I  have  seen  him." 
"  If  he  has  brought  you  to  reason — " 
"  Oh  !     lie  has — he  has.     I  am  entirely  reasonable." 
Mrs.  Arundel  was  astonished.      The  girl  was  flushed  of  face 
and  brif^lit  of  eye;  her  breath  was  quick;  her  lips  were  parted. 
She  looked  entirely  happy. 

"My  dear  mother,"  she  went  on,  "  I  am  to  dine  with  him  to- 
night. Hilda  is  to  dine  with  him  to-night.  You  are  to  dine  with 
him  to-night.  It  is  to  be  a  family  party.  He  will  bring  us  all 
to  reason — to  a  bagful  of  reasons." 

"  Elsie,  this  seems  to  mc  to  be  mirth  misplaced." 
i* 


82  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  No — no — in  its  right  place — reasons  all  in  a  row  and  on  three 
shelves,  labelled  and  arranged  and  classified." 

"  Yon  talk  in  enigmas." 

"My  dear  mother" — yet  that  morning  the  dear  mother  wonld 
not  speak  to  the  dear  danghter — "  I  talk  in  enigmas,  and  I  sing 
in  conundrums.  I  feel  like  an  oracle  or  a  Delphic  old  woman 
for  dark  sayings." 

She  ran  away,  slamming  the  door  after  her.  Jlcr  mother  heard 
her  singing  in  her  studio  all  to  herself.  "  Can  she  be  in  her  right 
mind  ?"  she  asked,  anxiously.  "  To  marry  a  paujjcr,  to  receive 
the  admonition  of  her  guardian — and  such  a  guardian — and  to 
come  home  singing.  'Twould  be  better  to  lock  her  up  than  let 
her  marry." 


CUAPTER  VII 

SOMETHING    ELSE    HAPPENS 


Mr.  Dering  lay  back  in  his  chair,  gazing  at  the  door — the 
unromantic  ofBce-door — through  which  Elsie  had  just  passed. 
I  suppose  that  even  the  dryest  of  old  bachelors  and  lawyers  may 
be  touched  by  the  sight  of  a  young  girl  made  suddenly  and  un- 
expectedly happy.  Perhaps  the  mere  apparition  of  a  lovely  girl — 
dainty  and  delicate  and  sweet,  daintily  and  delicately  apparelled, 
so  as  to  look  like  a  goddess  or  a  wood-nymph  rather  than  a 
creature  of  clay — may  have  awakened  old  and  long-forgotten 
thoughts  before  the  instincts  of  youth  were  stifled  by  piles  of 
parchment.  It  is  the  peculiar  and  undisputed  privilege  of  the 
liistorian  to  read  thoughts,  but  it  is  not  always  necessary  to  write 
thera  down. 

He  sat  up,  and  sighed.  "  I  have  not  told  her  all,"  he  mur- 
mured. "She  shall  be  happier  still."  lie  touched  his  hand- 
bell. "  Checkley,"  he  said,  "ask  Mr.  Austin  kindly  to  step  this 
way.     A  day  of  surprise — of  joyful  surprise — for  both." 

It  was,  indeed,  to  be  a  day  of  good  fortune,  as  you  shall  see. 

He  opened  a  drawer,  and  took  out  a  document,  rolled  and  tied, 
which  he  laid  upon  the  table  before  him. 

George  obeyed  the  summons,  not  without  misgiving;  for  Elsie, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  83 

he  knew,  must  by  this  tirae  have  had  the  dreaded  interview,  and 
the  call  might  have  some  reference  to  his  own  share  in  the  great 
contumacy.  To  incur  the  displeasure  of  his  employer  in  connec- 
tion with  that  event  might  lead  to  serious  consequences. 

Astonishing  thing  !  Mr.  Bering  received  him  with  a  counte- 
nance that  seemed  transformed.  lie  smiled  benevolently  upon 
him.  He  even  laughed.  He  smiled  when  George  opened  the 
door;  he  laughed  when,  in  obedience  to  a  gesture  of  invitation, 
George  took  a  chair.  He  actually  laughed ;  not  weakly  or  fool- 
ishly, but  as  a  strong  man  laughs. 

"I  want  ten  minutes  with  you,  George  Austin" — he  actually 
used  the  Christian  name — "  ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
or  perhaps  half  an  hour."  He  laughed  again.  "  Now,  then" — 
his  face  assumed  its  usual  judicial  expression,  but  his  lips  broke 
into  unaccustomed  smiles — "  now  then,  sir,  I  have  just  seen  my 
ward — my  former  ward,  for  she  is  now  of  age — and  have  heard 
— well,  everything  there  was  to  hear." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  sir,  that  what  you  heard  from  Elsie  was 
the  exact  truth." 

"  I  believe  so.  The  questions  which  I  put  to  her  I  also  put 
to  you.  How  do  you  propose  to  live  ? — on  your  salary  I  Yuu 
have  been  engaged  to  my  late  ward  without  asking  the  permis- 
sion of  her  guardians — that  is,  her  mother  and  myself." 

"  That  is  not  quite  the  case.  We  found  that  her  mother  op- 
posed the  engagement,  and  therefore  it  was  not  necessary  to  ask 
your  permission.  AVe  agreed  to  let  the  matter  rest  until  she 
should  be  of  age.  Meanwhile,  we  openly  corresponded  and  saw 
each  other." 

"  It  is  a  distinction  without  a  difference ;  perhaps  what  you 
would  call  a  legal  distinction.  You  now  propose  to  marry.  Elsie 
Arundel  is  no  longer  my  ward ;  but,  as  a  friend,  I  venture  to  ask 
vou  how  yo«i  propose  to  live?  A  wife  and  a  house  cost  money. 
Shall  you  keep  house  and  wife  on  your  salary  alone?  Have  you 
any  other  resources  ?" 

There  arc  several  ways  of  putting  these  awkward  questions. 
There  is  especially  the  way  of  accusation,  by  which  you  charge 
the  guilty  young  man  of  being,  by  his  own  fault,  one  of  a  very 
large  family ;  of  having  no  money  and  no  expectations — nothing 
at  all,  unless  he  can  make  it  for  himself.  It  is  the  manner  gen- 
erally adopted  by  parents  and  guardians.     Mr.  Dering,  however, 


84  THE    IVORY    GATE 

when  he  put  tlic  question,  smiled  genially  and  rubbed  Iiis  hands — 
a  thing  so  unusual  as  to  be  terrifying  in  itself — us  if  he  were  ut- 
tering a  joke — a  thing  he  never  had  done  in  his  life.  The  ques- 
tion, however,  even  when  put  in  this,  the  kindest,  way,  is  one 
most  awkward  for  any  young  man,  and  especially  for  a  young  man 
in  either  branch  of  the  law,  and  most  especially  for  a  young  man 
beginning  the  ascent  of  the  lower  branch. 

Consider,  of  all  the  professions,  crowded  as  they  are,  there  is 
none  so  crowded  as  this  branch  of  the  law.  "  What,"  asks  anx- 
ious Quiverful  I'ere,  "shall  I  do  with  this  boy  of  mine?  I  will 
spend  a  tliousand  pounds  upon  him,  and  make  him  a  solicitor. 
Once  he  has  passed,  the  way  is  clear  for  him."  "  How,"  asks 
the  ambitious  man  of  trade,  "  shall  I  advance  my  son  ?  I  will 
make  him  a  lawyer;  once  passed,  he  will  open  an  ofllce  and  get 
a  practice  and  become  rich,  lie  will  be  a  gentleman,  and  his 
children  will  be  born  gentlemen."  Very  good  ;  a  most  laudable 
custom  it  is  in  this  realm  of  Great  Britain  for  the  young  men 
still  to  be  pressing  upwards,  though  those  who  are  already  high 
up  would  fain  forget  the  days  of  climbing,  and  sneer  at  those 
who  are  making  their  way.  But,  applied  to  this  profession, 
climbing  seems  no  longer  practicable.  This  way  of  advance  will 
have  to  be  abandoned. 

Consider,  again.  Every  profession  gets  rich  out  of  its  own 
mine.  There  is  the  mine  ecclesiastic,  the  niine  medical,  the 
mine  artistic,  the  mine  legal.  The  last  named  contains  leases, 
covenants,  agreements,  wills,  bonds,  mortgages,  actions,  partner- 
ships, transfers,  conveyances,  county  courts,  and  other  treasures, 
all  to  be  had  for  the  digging.  But — and  this  is  too  often  for- 
gotten— there  is  only  a  limited  quantity  to  be  taken  out  of  the 
mine  every  year,  and  there  is  not  enough  to  go  round  except  in 
very  minute  portions.  And  since,  until  we  become  Socialists  at 
heart,  we  shall  all  of  us  continue  to  desire  for  our  share  that 
which  is  called  the  mess  of  Benjamin,  and  since  all  cannot  get 
that  mess — which  Mr.  Bering  had  enjoyed  for  the  whole  of  his 
life — or  anything  like  that  desirable  portion,  most  young  solici- 
tors go  in  great  heaviness  of  spirit — hang  their  heads,  corrugate 
their  foreheads,  write  despairing  letters  to  the  girls  the}'  left  be- 
hind them,  and  with  grumbling  gratitude  take  the  hundred  or 
two  hundred  a  year  which  is  offered  for  their  services  as  man- 
aging clerks.     Again,  the  legal  mine  seems  of  late  years  not  to 


THE    IVOUY    GATE  86 

yield  anything  like  so  much  as  formerly.  There  has  been  a  cruel 
shrinkage  all  over  the  country,  and  especially  in  country  towns ; 
the  boom  of  building  seems  to  have  come  to  an  end ;  the  agri- 
cultural depression  has  dragged  down  with  it  an  immense  num- 
ber of  people  who  formerly  Hourishcd  with  the  lawyers,  and,  by 
means  of  their  savings,  investments,  leases,  and  partnerships  and 
quarrels,  made  many  a  solicitor  fat  and  happy.  That  is  all  gone. 
It  used  to  be  easy,  if  one  had  a  little  money,  to  buy  a  partner, 
ship.  Now  it  is  no  longer  possible — or,  at  least,  no  longer  easy. 
Nobody  has  a  business  greater  than  he  himself  can  manage ; 
everybody  has  got  a  son  coming  in. 

These  considerations  show  why  the  question  was  difficult  to 
answer. 

Said  George  in  reply,  but  with  some  confusion,  "  \Ye  arc  pre- 
pared to  live  on  little;  we  are  not  in  the  least  extravagant.  Elsie 
will  rough  it.     Besides,  she  has  her  art — " 

"  Out  of  which  she  makes  at  present  nothing  a  year." 

"  But  she  will  get  on — and  I  may  hope,  may  reasonably  hope, 
some  time  to  make  an  income  larger  than  my  present  one." 

"  You  may  hope — you  may  liope.  But  the  position  is  not 
hopeful.  In  fact,  George  Austin,  you  must  marry  on  ten  times 
your  present  income,  or  not  at  all." 

"  But,  I  assure  you,  sir,  our  ideas  are  truly  modest,  and  we 
have  made  up  our  minds  how  we  can  live  and  pay  our  wav." 

"  You  think  you  liave.  That  is  to  say,  yon  have  prepared  a 
table  of  expenses  showing  how,  with  twopence  to  spare,  you  can 
live  very  well  on  two  hundred  pounds  a  year.  Of  course  you 
put  down  nothing  for  the  thousand-and-onc  little  unexpected 
things  which  everybody  of  your  education  and  habits  pays  for 
every  day." 

"  We  have  provided  as  far  as  we  can  see." 

"  AYell,  it  won't  do.  Of  course  I  can't  forbid  the  girl  to  marry 
you — she  is  of  age.  I  can't  forbid  you — but  I  can  make  it  im- 
possible— impossible  for  you,  Master  Austin — impossible." 

lie  rapped  the  table.  The  words  were  stern,  but  the  voice 
was  kindly,  and  he  smiled  again  as  he  spoke.  "  You  thouf^ht 
you  would  do  without  mc,  did  yuu  I  ^Yell — you  shall  see — you 
shall  see." 

George  received  this  threat  without  words,  but  with  a  red  face 
and  with  rising  indignation.     Still  when  one  is  a  servant,  one 


8G  THE    IVORY    GATE 

must  endure  the  reproofs  of  the  master.  He  said  nothing,  there- 
fore, but  waited. 

"  I  have  considered  for  some  time,"  Mr.  Bering  continued, 
"  how  to  meet  tliis  case  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  At  last  I 
made  up  my  mind.  And  if  you  will  read  this  document,  young 
gentleman,  you  will  find  that  I  have  made  your  foolish  proposal 
to  marry  on  love,  and  nothing  else,  quite  impossible — quite  im- 
possible, sir."  lie  slapped  the  table  with  the  paper,  and  tossed 
it  over  to  George. 

George  took  the  paper,  and  began  to  read  it.  Suddenly  lie 
jumped  out  of  his  chair.  Jle  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  What  P^ 
he  cried. 

"  Go  on — go  on,"  said  Mr.  Dering  benevolently. 

"  Partnership  ?  Partnership  ?"  George  gasped.  "  What  does 
it  mean  ?" 

"  It  is,  as  you  say,  a  deed  of  partnership  between  myself  and 
yourself.  The  conditions  of  the  partnership  are  duly  set  forth — 
I  hope  you  will  see  your  way  to  accepting  them.  A  deed  of 
partnership.  I  do  not  know  within  a  few  hundreds  what  your 
share  may  be,  but  I  believe  you  may  reckon  on  at  least  two  thou- 
sand for  the  first  year,  and  more — much  more — before  long." 

"  More  than  a  thousand  ?" 

"  Yon  have  not  read  the  deed  through.  Call  yourself  a  law- 
yer?    Sit  down,  and  read  it  word  for  word." 

George  obeyed,  reading  it  as  if  it  were  a  paper  submitted  to  him 
for  consideration,  a  paper  belonging  to  some  one  else. 

"Well?    You  have  read  it?"^ 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  it  througli." 

"Observe  that  the  partnership  may  be  dissolved  by  death, 
bankruptcy,  or  mutual  consent.  I  receive  two  thirds  of  the  pro- 
ceeds for  life.  That — alas  ! — will  not  be  for  long.  Well,  young 
man,  do  you  accept  this  offer  ?" 

"Accept?  Oh!  Accept?  What  can  I  do?  What  can  I  say — 
but  accept?"  He  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out.  I  sup- 
pose he  was  admiring  the  trees  in  the  square,  which  were  cer- 
tainly very  beautiful  in  early  July.  Then  he  returned,  his  eyes 
humid. 

"Aha!"  Mr.  Dering  chuckled,  "I  told  you  that  I  would 
make  it  impossible  for  you  to  marry  on  two  hundred  pounds  a 
year.     I  waited  till  Elsie's  birthday.     "Well  ?    You   will  now  be 


THE    IVORY    OATE 


87 


able  to  revise  that  little  estimate  of  living  on  two  hundred  a 
year.     Eh  ?'' 

"  Mr,  Dering,"  said  George,  with  breaking  voice,  "  I   cannot 
believe  it.     I  cannot  understand  it.     I  have  not  deserved  it." 

"  Shake  hands,  my  partner." 

The  two  men  shook  hands. 

"  Now  sit  down,  and  let  us  talk  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Bering.  "  I 
am  old.  I  am  past  seventy.  I  have  tried  to  persuade  myself 
that  I  am  still  as  lit  for  work  as  ever.  But  I  have  had  warnings. 
I  now  perceive  that  they  must  be  taken  as  warnings.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  little  confusion  of  memory — I  am  not  able  to  account  for 
little  things — I  forget  what  I  did  yesterday  afternoon.  I  sup- 
pose all  old  men  get  these  reminders  of  coming  decay.  It  means 
that  I  must  reduce  work  and  responsibility.  I  might  give  up 
business  altogether,  and  retire — I  have  money  enough  and  to 
spare ;  but  this  is  the  third  generation  of  a  successful  house, 
and  I  could  not  bear  to  close  the  doors,  and  to  think  that  the 
firm  would  altogether  vanish.  So  I  thought  I  would  take  a  part- 
ner, and  I  began  to  look  about  me.  Well — in  brief,  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  I  should  find  no  young  man  better  qualified 
than  yourself  for  ability,  and  for  power  of  work,  and  for  all  the 
qualities  necessary  for  the  successful  conduct  of  such  a  house  as 
this.  Especially,  I  considered  the  essential  of  good  manners.  I 
was  early  taught  by  my  father  that  the  greatest  aid  to  success  is 
good  breeding.  I  trust  that,  in  this  respect,  I  have  done  justice 
to  the  teaching  of  one  who  was  the  most  courtly  of  his  time. 
You  belong  to  an  age  of  less  ceremony  and  less  respect  to  rank. 
But  we  are  not  always  in  a  barrack  or  in  a  club.  We  are  not 
all  comrades  or  equals.  There  arc  those  below  to  consider  as  well 
as  those  above.  There  are  women  ;  there  are  old  men.  You,  my 
partner,  have  shown  me  that  you  can  give  to  each  the  considera- 
tion, the  deference,  the  recognition,  that  he  deserves.  True  breed- 
ing is  the  recognition  of  the  individual.  You  are  careful  of  the 
small  things  which  smooth  the  asperities  of  business.  In  no  pro- 
fession, not  even  that  of  medicine,  is  a  good  manner  more  useful 
than  in  ours,  and  this  you  possess.  It  also  pleases  me,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  to  think  that,  in  making  you  my  partner,  I  am 
also  promoting  the  happiness  of  a  young  lady  I  have  known  all 
her  life." 

George  murmured  something.     He  looked  more  like  a  guilty 


88  THE    IVORY    GATE 

school-boy  than  a  man  just  raised  to  a  position  most  enviable. 
His  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  his  hands  trembled.  Mr.  Dering 
touched  his  bell. 

"  Chcckley,"  he  said,  when  that  faithful  retainer  appeared,  "  I 
have  already  told  you  of  my  intention  to  take  a  partner.  This  is 
ray  new  partner." 

Checkley  changed  color.  His  old  eyes — or  was  George  wrong? 
— flashed  with  a  light  of  malignity  as  he  raised  them.  It  made 
him  feel  uncomfortable — but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  My  partner,  Checkley,"  repeated  Mr.  Dering. 

"  Oh  !"  His  voice  was  dry  and  grating.  "  Since  we  couldn't 
go  on  as  before —     "Well,  I  hope  you  won't  repent  it." 

"You  shall  witness  the  signing  of  the  deed,  Checkley.  Call 
in  a  clerk.  So — there  wc  have  it,  drawn,  signed,  and  witnessed. 
Once  more,  my  partner,  shake  hands." 

Elsie  retired  to  lier  own  room  after  the  snub  administered  to 
licr  rising  spirits.  She  soon  began  to  sing  again,  being  much  too 
happy  to  be  affected  by  anything  so  small.  She  went  on  with 
her  portrait,  preserving  some,  but  not  all,  of  the  softness  and 
benevolence  which  she  had  put  into  it,  and  thereby  producing 
what  is  allowed  to  be  an  excellent  portrait  but  somewhat  flatter- 
ing. She  herself  knows  very  well  that  it  is  not  flattering  at  all, 
but  even  lower  than  the  truth — only  the  other  people  have  never 
seen  the  lawyer  in  an  expansive  moment. 

Now  while  she  was  thus  engaged,  her  mind  going  back  every 
other  minute  to  her  newly  acquired  inheritance,  a  cab  drove  up  to 
the  house,  the  door  flow  open,  and  her  lover — her  George — flew 
into  her  arms. 

"  You  here — George  !  Actually  in  the  house  ?  Oh  !  but  you 
know — " 

"  I  know — I  know.  But  I  could  not  possibly  wait  till  this 
evening.  My  dear  child,  the  most  wonderful — the  most  wonder- 
ful thing — the  most  extraordinary  thing — in  the  whole  world  has 
happened — a  thing  wc  could  never  hope  and  never  ask — " 

"  Mr.  Dering  has  told  you,  then  ?" 

"  What  ?     i)o  you  know  ?" 

"  Mr.  Dering  told  me  this  morning.  Ob,  George  !  isn't  it  won- 
derful ?" 

"  Wonderful  ?    It  is  like  the  last  chapter  of  a  novel !"    This  he 


THE    IVORY    GATE  89 

said  speaking  as  a  fool,  because  the  only  last  chapter  in  life  is 
that  in  which  Azrael  crosses  the  threshold. 

"  Oh,  George  ! — I  have  been  walking  in  the  air — I  have  been 
flying — I  have  been  singing  and  dancing.  I  fool  as  if  I  had  never 
before  known  what  it  was  to  be  happy,  Mr.  Dering  said  some- 
thing about  having  it  settled — mind — it's  all  yours,  George — yours 
as  well  as  mine." 

"  Yes,"  said  George,  a  little  puzzled,  "  I  suppose  in  tlie  eyes 
of  the  law  it  is  mine,  but  then  it  is  yours  as  well.  All  that  is 
mine  is  yours." 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Dering  said  it  was  mine  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law.  What  does  it  matter,  George,  what  the  stupid  old  law 
says?" 

"  Nothing,  my  dear — nothing  at  all." 

"  It  will  be  worth  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  very  nearly.  That, 
with  your  two  hundred  pounds  a  year,  will  make  us  actually  com- 
fortable after  all  our  anxieties." 

"  Five  hundred  a  year  ?  It  will  be  worth  four  times  that,  I 
hope." 

"  Four  tinies?  Oh,  no  I — that  is  impossible.  But  Mr.  Dering 
told  me  that  he  could  hardly  get  so  much  as  four  per  cent.,  and 
I  liave  made  a  sum  and  worked  it  out.  Rule  for  simple  interest 
— multiply  the  principal  by  the  rate  per  cent.,  and  again  by  the 
time,  and  divide  by  a  hundred.  It  is  quite  simple.  And  what 
makes  the  sum  sim{)ler,  you  need  only  take  one  year." 

"What  principal,  Elsie?  by  what  interest?  You  are  running 
your  little  head  against  rules  of  arithmetic.  Here  there  is  no 
principal  and  no  interest.  It  is  a  case  of  proceeds,  and  then  di- 
vision." 

"  We  will  call  it  proceeds  if  you  like,  George,  but  he  called  it 
interest.  Anyhow,  it  comes  to  five  hundred  a  year,  very  nearly ; 
and  with  your  two  hundred — " 

"  I  don't  know  wliat  you  mean  by  your  five  hundred  a  year. 
As  for  my  two  hundred,  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  that 
will  very  soon  be  two  thousand." 

"  Your  two  hundred  will  become —  ?  George,  wc  arc  talking 
across  each  other." 

"  Yes.     What  money  of  yours  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  the  twelve  thousand  pounds  tliat  Mr.  Dering  holds 
forme — with  accumulations — accumulations" — she  bc^an  to  sine: 


90  THE    IVORY    GATE 

y^         the  rhyme  of  the   omnibus- wliccls — "accumulations — ations — 
p,^   «c  ations." 

.A  "  Twelve  thousand  pounds?     Is  this  Fairyland?    Twelve  tliou- 

,  sand  ?  ^  reel — I  faint — I  sink — I  melt  away.  Take  my  bands 
— both  my  bands,  Elsie;  kiss  me  kindly — it's  better  than  brandy 
— kindly  kiss  me.  Twelve  thousand  pounds  I  with  accumula- 
tions—" 

" — ations  —  ations  —  ations,"  she  sang.  "Never  before, 
George,  have  I  understood  the  loveliness  and  the  power  of 
money.  They  were  given  to  Mr.  Dering  by  an  anonymous  per- 
son to  be  held  for  me — secretly.  No  one  knows — not  even,  yet, 
my  mother." 

"Oh!  It  is  altogether  loo  much — too  much;  once  there  was 
a  poor  but  loving  couple,  and  Fortune  turned  her  wheel,  and — 
You  <lon't  know  —  you  most  unsuspecting  ignorant  thing  — 
you  can't  guess —  Oh  !  Elsie,  I  am  a  jiartiier — Mr.  Bering's 
partner." 

They  caught  hands  again — then  they  let  go — then  they  sat 
down  and  gazed  upon  each  other. 

"  Elsie,"  said  George. 

"  George,"  said  Elsie. 

"  We  can  now  marry  like  everybody  else — but  much  better. 
AYe  shall  have  furniture  now." 

"  All  the  furniture  we  shall  want,  and  a  house  where  we 
please.     No  contriving  now — no  pinching." 

"  No  self-denying  for  each  other,  my  dear," 

"  That's  a  pity,  isn't  it  ?  But,  George,  don't  repine.  The  ad- 
vantages may  counterbalance  the  drawbacks.  I  think  I  see  the 
cottage  where  we  were  going  to  live.  It  is  in  Islington,  or  near 
it — Barnsbury,  perhaps.  There  is  a  little  garden  in  front  and  one 
at  the  back.  There  is  always  washing  hung  out  to  dry — I  don't 
like  the  smell  of  suds.  For  dinner  one  has  cold  Australian  tinned 
meat  for  economy,  not  for  choice.  The  rooms  are  very  small, 
and  the  furniture  is  shabby,  because  it  was  cheap  and  bad  to  be- 
gin with.  And  when  you  come  home — oh,  George  !" — she  stuck 
her  forefinger  in  her  chalk  and  drew  two  or  three  lines  on  his 
face — "  you  look  like  that,  so  discontented,  so  grumpy,  so  gloomy. 
Oh  !  my  dear,  the  advantages — they  do  so  greatly  outbalance 
the  drawbacks  ;  and  George — you  will  love  your  wife  all  the 
more — I  am  sure  you  will — because  she  can  always  dress  properly, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  91 

and  look  nice,  and  give  you  a  dinner  that  will  help  to  rest  you 
from  the  work  of  the  day." 

Once  more  this  foolish  couple  fell  into  each  other's  arms,  and 
kissed  again  with  tears  and  smiles  and  laughter. 

"  AVho,"  asked  Mrs.  Arundel,  ringing  the  bell  upstairs — "  who 
is  with  Miss  Elsie  below  ?" 

On  hearing  that  it  was  Mr.  George  Austin,  whose  presence  in 
the  house  was  forbidden,  Mrs.  Arundel  rose  solemnly  and  awfully, 
and  walked  down  the  stairs.  She  had  a  clear  duty  before  her. 
When  she  threw  open  the  door  the  lovers  were  hand  in  hand, 
dancing  round  the  room,  laughing — but  the  tears  were  runnino- 
down  Elsie's  cheeks. 

"  Elsie,"  said  her  mother,  standing  at  the  open  door,  "perhaps 
you  can  explain  this." 

"  Permit  me  to  explain,"  said  George. 

"  This  gentleman,  Elsie,  has  been  forbidden  the  house." 

"  One  moment — "  he  began. 

"  Go,  sir."     She  pointed  majestically  to  the  window. 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Elsie.  "  Tell  her,  George— tell  her  ;  I  cannot." 
She  fell  to  laughing  and  crying  together,  but  still  held  her  lover 
by  the  hand. 

"  I  will  have  no  communication  whatever  with  one  who  robs 
me  of  a  daughter,"  said  tliis  Roman  matron.  "  Will  you,  once 
more,  leave  the  house,  sir?" 

"  Mother,  you  must  hear  him." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Arundel,  "  will  ever  induce  me  to  speak 
to  liim — nothing." 

"  Mother,  don't  be  silly!"  Elsie  cried.  "  You  don't  know  what 
has  happened.  You  must  not  say  such  things.  You  will  only  be 
sorry  for  them  afterwards." 

"  Never — never.  One  may  forgive  such  a  man,  but  one  can 
never  speak  to  him  ;  never — whatever  happens — never."  The 
lady  looked  almost  heroic  as  she  waved  her  right  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  man. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  George,  "  but  not  till  you  have  lieard  me. 
I  am  rich — Elsie  is  rich — we  shall  not  marry  into  poverty.  The 
whole  situation  is  entirely  changed." 

"  Changed,"  Elsie  repeated,  taking  George's  arm. 

"  My  dear  George,"  said  Mrs.  Arundel,  when  she  had  heard  the 


92  TUE    IVORY    GATE 

whole  story,  and  by  cross-examination  persuaded  herself  that  it 
was  true,  "  you  know  on  what  a  just  basis  my  objections  were 
founded.  Otherwise,  I  should  have  been  delighted  at  the  outset. 
Kiss  nie,  Elsie.  You  have  my  full  consent,  children.  These 
remarkable  events  are  providential.  On  Mr.  Bering's  death  or 
retirement  you  will  step  into  an  enormous  practice.  Follow  his 
example — take  no  partner  till  old  age  compels  you  ;  keep  all  the 
profits  for  yourself — all.  My  dear  George,  you  should  be  a  very 
liappy  man.  Not  so  rich,  perhaps,  as  my  son-in-law,  Sir  Samuel, 
but  above  the  ordinary  run  of  common  happiness.  As  for  the 
past —  Wo  will  now  go  down  to  lunch.  There  is  the  bell. 
These  emotions  are  fatiguing." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN    HONOR    OF    THE    EVENT 


May  one  dwell  upon  so  simple  a  thing  as  a  small  family  din- 
ner-party ?  It  is  generally  undramatic  and  uneventful ;  it  is  not 
generally  marked  even  by  a  new  dish  or  a  bottle  of  rare  wine. 
Yet  there  lingers  in  the  mind  of  every  man  the  recollection  of 
pleasant  dinners.  I  should  like  to  write  a  "Book  of  Dinners,"  not 
a  book  for  the  gourmet,  but  a  book  of  memories.  It  might  be  a 
most  delightful  volume.  There  would  be  in  it  the  school-boys' 
dinner.  I  remember  a  certain  dinner  at  eigh teen-pence  a  head, 
at  Richmond,  before  we  had  the  row  in  the  boat,  when  we  quar- 
relled, and  broke  the  oars  over  each  other's  heads,  and  very  nearly 
capsized;  a  certain  undergraduates'  dinner,  in  which  four  men — 
three  of  whom  are  now  ghosts — joined;  the  Ramblers'  dinner — of 
lamb-chops  and  bottled  ale,  and  mirth  and  merriment;  the  two- 
by-two  dinner  in  the  private  room — a  dainty  dinner  of  sweet  lamb, 
sweet  bread,  sweet  pease,  sweet  looks,  sweet  Moselle,  and  sweet 
words.  Is  it  really  true  that  one  never — never — gets  young  again  ? 
Some  people  do,  I  am  sure,  but  they  are  under  promise  to  say 
nothing  about  it.  I  shall — and  then  that  dinner  may  perhaps — 
one  cannot  say — one  never  knows — and  I  suppose,  if  one  was 
young  again,  that  they  would  be  found  just  as  pretty  as  they 
ever  were.    There  is  the  official  dinner,  stately  and  cold ;  the  City 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  93 

dinner,  which  generally  comes  to  a  man  when  his  digestion  is  no 
longer  what  it  was;  the  family  dinner,  in  which  the  intellect  plays 
so  s^nall  a  part,  because  no  one  wastes  his  fine  things  on  his  broth- 
ers and  sisters;  the  dinner  at  which  one  has  to  make  a  speech. 
Indeed,  this  "  Book  of  Dinners"  promises  to  be  a  most  charming 
volume.  I  should  attempt  it,  however,  with  trembling,  because, 
to  do  it  really  well,  one  should  be,  first  of  all,  a  scholar,  if  only  to 
appreciate  things  said  and  spoken,  and  in  order  to  connect  the 
illustrious  past  with  food  and  drink.  Next,  he  ought  to  be  still 
young;  he  certainly  must  have  a  proper  feeling  for  wine,  and 
niust°certainly  understand  when  and  why  one  should  be  grateful 
to  good  Master  Cook ;  he  should  be  a  past  or  present  master  in 
the" art  of  love  and  a  squire  of  dames;  he  should  be  good  at 
conversation  ;  he  must,  in  the  old  language,  be  a  worshipper  of 
Bacchus,  Venus,  Phoebus  Apollo,  the  Muses  nine,  and  the  Graces 
three.  He  must  be  no  poor  weakling,  unable  to  enjoy  the  good 
creatures  of  tlesh,  fowl,  fish,  and  wine;  no  boor;  and  no  log,  in- 
sensible to  loveliness. 

Dinner,  which  should  be  a  science,  has  long  been  treated  as  one 
of  the  fine  arts.      Now  every  fine  art,  as  we  all  know,  has  its 
fashions   and   its   caprices.      Those  who  are  old   enough   to  re- 
member the  dinners  of  twenty,  thirty,  or  forty  years  ago  can  re- 
member many  of  their  fashions  and  caprices.     In  the  thirties, 
for  instance,  everything  was  carved  upon  the  table.     It  required 
a  strong  man  to  give  a  dinner-party.     Fortunately,  a  dinner  then 
consiste"d  of  few  dishes.    They  drank  sherry  with  dinner,  and  port 
afterwards.     The  champagne,  if  there  was  any,  was  sweet.     The 
guests  were  bidden  for  half-past  six;    they  sat  down  to  dinner 
before  seven.     At  eight  the  ladies  went  upstairs ;  at  half-past  ten 
the  men  joined  them.     Their  faces  were  flushed,  their  shoulders 
were  inclined  to  lurch,  and  their  speech  was  the  least  bit  thick. 
Wonderful  to  relate,  brandy-and-water  used  to  be  served  to  these 
topers  in  the  drawing-room  itself. 

Mr.  Dering  had  altered  little  in  his  dinner  customs.  They 
mostly  belonged  to  the  sixties,  with  a  survival  of  some  belong- 
ing to  the  thirties.  Things  were  carved  upon  the  sideboard— 
this  was  in  deference  to  modern  custom  ;  champagne  formed  an 
integral  part  of  the  meal,  but  the  dinner  itself  was  solid ;  the 
clotii  after  dinner  was  removed,  leaving  the  dark,  polished  ma- 
hogany, after  the  old  fashion  ;  the  furniture  of  the  room  was  also 


94  THE    IVORY    GATE 

in  the  old  style — the  chairs  wore  heavy  and  solid;  the  walls  were 
hung  with  a  dark  crimson  paper  of  velvety  texture;  the  curtains 
and  the  carpets  were  red;  there  were  pictures  of  game  and  fruit; 
the  sideboard  was  as  solid  as  the  table. 

Checkley,  the  clerk,  who  was  invited,  as  a  faithful  servant  of 
the  liouse,  to  the  celebration  of  the  new  partnership,  was  the  first 
to  arrive.  ])ressed  in  a  hired  suit,  he  looked  like  an  undertaker's 
assistant;  the  gloom  upon  his  face  heightened  the  resemblance. 
Why  the  partnersliip  caused  this  appearance  of  gloom  1  know 
not.  Certainly  he  could  never  expect  to  be  made  a  partner  him- 
self. It  was  perhaps  a  species  of  jealousy  which  filled  his  soul. 
He  would  no  longer  know  so  much  of  the  business. 

George  came  with  the  mother-in-law  elect  and  the  fiancee. 
Forgiveness,  peace,  amnesty,  and  charity  sat  all  together  upon 
the  brow  of  the  elder  lady.  She  was  magnificent  in  a  dark  crim- 
son velvet,  and  she  had  a  good  deal  of  gold  about  lier  arms  and 
neck.  Jewish  ladies  arc  said  to  show,  by  the  magnificence  of  their 
attire,  the  prosperity  of  the  business.  Why  not?  It  is  a  form 
of  enjoying  success.  There  are  many  forms.  One  man  buys 
books — let  him  buy  books;  another  collects  pictures.  Why  not? 
One  woman  wears  crimson  velvet.  Why  not?  In  this  way  she 
enjoys  her  wealth  and  proclaims  it.  Again,  why  not?  It  seems 
to  the  philosopher  a  fond  and  a  vain  thing  to  deck  the  person  at 
all  times,  and  especially  fond  when  the  person  is  middle-aged  and 
no  longer  beautiful.  We  are  not  all  philosophers.  There  are 
many  middle-aged  men  who  are  extremely  liappy  to  put  on  their 
uniforms  and  their  medals  and  their  glittering  helmets.  Mrs.  Arun- 
del wore  her  velvet  as  if  she  enjoyed  the  color  of  it,  the  richness 
of  it,  the  light  and  shade  that  lay  in  its  folds,  and  the  soft  feel  of 
it.  She  wore  it,  too,  as  an  outward  sign  that  this  was  a  great 
occasion.  Iler  daughter.  Lady  Dering,  came  also  arrayed  in  a 
queenly  dress  of  amber  silk,  with  an  aigrette  of  feathers  in  her 
hair.  To  be  sure,  she  was  going  on  somewhere  after  the  dinner. 
Elsie,  for  her  part,  came  in  a  creamy  white  almost  like  a  bride, 
but  she  looked  much  happier  than  most  brides.  Hilda's  hus- 
band, Sir  Samuel,  who  was  some  fourteen  years  younger  than  his 
brother,  was  in  appearance  a  typical  man  of  wealth.  The  rich 
man  can  no  longer,  as  in  the  days  of  good  old  Sir  Thomas  Gres- 
ham,  illustrate  his  riches  by  costly  furs,  embroidered  doublets, 
and  heavy  chains.     He  has  to  wear  broadcloth  and  black.     Yet 


THE    IVORY    GATE  95 

there  is  an  air,  a  carriage,  wliich  belongs  to  the  rich  man.  In 
appearance  Sir  Samuel  was  tail,  like  his  brother,  but  not  thin  like 
him ;  he  was  corpulent ;  his  face  was  red ;  he  was  bald ;  and  he 
wore  large  whiskers,  dyed  black.  The  late  dissensions  were  com- 
pletely forgotten.  Hilda  embraced  her  sister  fondly.  "My  dear," 
she  whispered,  "  we  have  heard  all.  Everything — everything  is 
changed  by  these  fortunate  events.  They  do  you  the  greatest 
credit.  George" — she  took  his  hand  and  held  it  tenderly — "I 
cannot  tell  you  how  happy  this  news  has  made  us  all.  You  will 
be  rich  in  the  course  of  years.  Sir  Samuel  was  only  saying,  as 
we  came  along — " 

"  I  was  saying,  young  gentleman,"  the  knight  interrupted, 
"that  the  most  beautiful  thing  about  money  is  the  way  it  de- 
velops character.  We  do  not  ask  for  many  virtues — only  hon- 
esty and  diligence — from  the  poor.  When  a  man  acquires  wealth 
we  look  for  his  better  (jualitics." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Hilda  murmured,  "  his  better  qualities  begin 
to  show,  Elsie,  dear,  that  is  a  very  pretty  frock — I  don't  think 
I  have  seen  it  before.     How  do  you  like  ray  dress?" 

George  accepted  this  sudden  turn  in  opinion  with  smiles.  He 
laughed  at  it  afterwards.  For  the  moment  it  made  him  feel  almost 
as  if  he  was  being  rewarded  for  some  virtuous  action. 

Dinner  was  announced  at  seven — such  were  the  old-fashioned 
manners  of  this  old  gentleman.  He  led  in  Mrs.  Arundel,  and 
placed  Elsie  on  his  left.  At  first  the  dinner  promised  to  be  a 
silent  feast.  The  two  lovers  were  not  disposed  to  talk  much — 
they  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  overwhelming  and  astonish- 
ing events  of  the  day.  Sir  Samuel  never  talked  at  the  beginning 
of  dinner;  besides,  there  was  turtle  soup  and  red  mullet  and 
whitebait — it  is  sinful  to  divert  your  attention  from  these  good 
creatures.  His  wife  never  talked  at  dinner  or  at  any  other  time 
more  than  she  could  help.  Your  statuesque  beauty  seldom  does. 
Talking  much  involves  smiling  and  even  laughing,  which  distorts 
the  face.  A  woman  must  encourage  men  to  talk;  this  she  can  do 
without  saying  much  herself. 

Presently  Mr.  Bering  roused  himself,  and  began  to  talk,  with 
a  visible  effort,  first  to  Mrs.  Arundel  of  things  casual ;  then  to 
Elsie;  and  then  to  his  brother,  but  always  with  an  effort,  as  if 
he  were  thinking  of  other  things.  And  a  constraint  fell  upon  the 
party. 


96  THE     IVORV    GATE 

"When  tbc  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine  and  fruit  were 
placed  upon  the  dark  and  lustrous  board,  he  filled  a  glass  and 
made  a  kind  little  speech. 

"  My  partner,"  he  said,  "  I  drink  to  yon.  May  your  connec- 
tion with  the  house  be  prosperous!  It  is  a  very  great  good-fort- 
une for  me  to  have  found  such  a  partner.  Elsie,  I  join  you  with 
my  partner.     I  wish  you  both  every  happiness," 

He  ihained  the  bumper,  and  sent  round  the  decanters. 

Then  he  began  to  talk,  and  his  discourse  was  most  strange. 
"  Uad  it  been,''  said  his  brother  afterwards,  "  the  idle  fancies  of 
some  crack-brained  writing  fellow,  I  could  have  understood  it; 
but  from  him — from  a  steady  old  solicitor — a  man  who  has  never 
countcnajiced  any  kind  of  nonsense —  To  be  sure  lie  said  it  was 
only  an  illusion.  I  hope  it  isn't  a  softening.  Who  ever  heard 
of  such  a  man  as  that  liaving  dreams  and  illusions?" 

Certainly  no  one  had  ever  before  heard  Mr.  Dering  talk  in  this 
new  manner.  As  a  rule  he  was  silent  and  grave,  even  at  the  head 
of  his  own  table,  lie  spoke  little,  and  then  gravely.  To-night 
Ills  talk  as  well  as  his  face  was  changed.  Who  would  have 
thought  that  Mr.  Bering  should  confess  to  illusions,  and  should 
relate  dreams,  and  should  be  visited  by  such  dreams  ?  Remem- 
ber that  the  speaker  was  seventy-five  years  of  age,  and  that  he 
had  never  before  been  known  so  much  as  to  speak  of  benevo- 
lence. Then  you  will  understand  something  of  the  bewilderment 
which  fell  upon  the  whole  company. 

lie  began  by  raising  his  head,  and  smiling  with  a  strange  and 
new  benignity — but  Elsie  thought  of  her  portrait.  "  We  are  all 
one  family  here,"  he  said,  "and  I  may  talk.  I  want  to  tell  you 
of  a  very  remarkable  thing  that  has  recently  happened  to  me.  It 
has  been  growing,  I  now  perceive,  for  some  years.  But  it  now 
holds  me  strongly,  and  it  is  one  reason  why  I  am  anxious  to  have 
the  affairs  of  the  house  in  the  hands  of  a  younger  man.  For  it 
may  be  a  sign  of  the  end.  At  seventy-five  anything  uncommon 
may  be  a  sign." 

"  You  look  well,  Mr.  Dering,  and  as  strong  as  most  men  of  six- 
ty," said  Mrs.  Arundel. 

"  Perhaps.  I  feel  well  and  strong.  The  fact  is  that  I  am 
troubled — or  pleased — or  possessed — by  an  illusion." 

"  You  with  an  illusion  ?"  said  his  brother. 

"I  myself.     An  illusion  possesses  me.     It  whispers  me  from 


THE    IVORY    GATE  97 

time  to  time  tliat  my  life  is  wholly  spent  in  promoting  the  hap- 
piness of  other  people." 

"Well,"  said  his  brother,  "since  you  arc  a  first-class  solicitor, 
and  manage  the  affairs  of  many  people  very  much  to  their  ad- 
vantage, you  certainly  do  promote  their  happiness." 

"Yes,  yes — I  suppose  so.  My  illusion  further  is  that  it  is 
done  outside  my  business — without  any  bill  afterwards" — Clieck- 
ley  looked  up  with  eyes  wide  open.  "  I  ara  made  to  believe  that 
I  am  working  and  living  for  the  good  of  others.  A  curious  illu- 
sion, is  it  not?" 

The  City  man  shook  his  head.  "  That  any  man  can  possibly 
live  for  the  good  of  others  is,  I  take  it,  always  and  under  all  cir- 
cumstances an  illusion.  In  the  present  state  of  society — and  a 
very  admirable  state  it  is" — he  rolled  his  bald  head  as  he  spoke, 
and  his  voice  had  a  rich  roll  in  it — "  a  man's  first  duty — his  sec- 
ond duty — his  third  duty — his  hundredth  duty — is  to  himself. 
In  the  City  it  is  his  business  to  amass  wealth — to  roll  it  up — roll 
it  up  " — he  expressed  the  words  with  feeling — "  to  invest  it  prof- 
itably—  to  watch  it,  and  to  nurse  it  as  it  fructifies  —  fructifies. 
Afterwards,  when  he  is  rich  enough,  if  ever  a  man  can  be  rich 
enough,  he  may  exercise  as  much  charity  as  he  pleases — as  he 
pleases.  Charity  seems  to  please  some  people  as  a  glass  of  fine 
wine"  —  he  illustrated  the  comparison  —  "pleases  the  palate — 
pleases  the  palate." 

The  lawyer  listened  politely,  and  inclined  his  head. 

"There  is  at  least  some  method  in  my  illusion,"  he  went  on. 
"You  mentioned  it.  The  solicitor  is  always  occupied  with  the 
conduct  of  other  people's  affairs.  That  must  be  admitted.  He 
is  always  engaged  in  considering  liow  best  to  guide  his  fcllow- 
inan  through  the  labyrinthine  world.  He  receives  his  fellow-man 
nt  his  entrance  into  the  world,  as  a  ward;  he  receives  him  grown 
up,  as  a  client;  he  advises  him  all  his  life  at  every  step  and  in 
every  emergency.  If  the  client  goes  into  partnership,  or  marries, 
or  buys  a  house  or  builds  one,  or  gets  into  trouble,  the  solicitor 
assists  and  advises  him.  When  the  client  grows  old,  the  solicitor 
makes  his  will.  When  the  client  dies,  the  solicitor  becomes  his 
executor  and  his  trustee,  and  administers  his  estate  for  him.  It 
is  thus  a  life,  as  I  said,  entirely  spent  for  other  people.  I  know 
not  of  any  other,  unless  it  be  of  medicine,  that  so  much  can  be 
said.  And  think  what  terrors,  what  anxieties,  what  disappoiut- 
5 


98  THE    IVORY    GATE 

nicnts,  the  solicitor  witnesses  and  alleviates!  Think  of  the  fami- 
ly scandals  he  hushes  up  and  keeps  secret !  Good  heavens !  if  a 
solicitor  in  large  practice  were  to  tell  what  he  knows,  think  of  the 
terrible  disclosures  !  lie  knows  everything.  lie  knows  more  than 
a  Iloman  Catholic  priest,  because  his  penitents  not  only  reveal 
their  own  sins,  but  also  those  of  their  wives  and  sons  and  friends 
and  partners.  And  anxiety,  I  may  tell  you,  makes  a  man  better 
at  confessing  than  penitence.  Sometimes  we  bring  actions  at  law, 
and  issue  writs,  and  so  forth.  Weil  now,  this  part  of  our  business, 
which  is  disagreeable  to  us,  is  actually  the  most  beneficent  of  any. 
Because,  by  means  of  the  cases  brought  before  the  High  Court  of 
Justice,  we  remind  the  world  that  it  must  be  law-abiding  as  well  as 
law-worthy.  The  law,  in  order  to  win  respect,  must  first  win  fear. 
Force  comes  before  order.  The  memory  of  force  must  be  kept 
lip.  The  presence  of  force  must  be  felt.  For  instance,  I  have  a 
libel  case  just  begun.  It  is  rather  a  bad  libel.  My  libeller  will 
suffer;  he  will  bleed;  but  he  will  bleed  for  the  public  good,  be- 
cause thousands  who  are  only  anxious  to  libel  and  slander,  to 
calumniate  and  defame  their  neighbors,  will  be  deterred.  Oh  !  it 
will  be  a  most  beneficent  case — far-reaching — striking  terror  into 
the  hearts  of  ill-doers.  Well — this,  my  friends,  is  my  illusion.  It 
is,  I  suppose,  one  of  the  many  illusions  with  which  we  cheat  old 
age  and  rob  it  of  its  terrors.  To  anybody  else  I  am  a  hard-fisted 
lawyer,  exacting  his  pound  of  flesh  from  the  unfortunate  debtor, 
and  making  myself  rich  at  the  expense  of  the  creditor." 

"  Nonsense  about  how  a  man  gets  rich,"  said  the  man  of  busi- 
ness. "  He  can  only  get  rich  if  he  is  capable.  Quite  right.  Let 
the  weak  go  under.     Let  the  careless  and  the  lazy  starve." 

"  At  the  same  time,"  said  Elsie  softly,  "  it  is  not  all  illusion. 
There  are  others  besides  the  careless  and  the  lazy — " 

"Sometimes,"  the  old  lawyer  went  on,  "  this  illusion  of  mine — 
oh  !  I  know  it  is  only  illusion — takes  the  form  of  a  dream,  so 
vivid  that  it  comes  back  to  me  afterwards  as  a  reality.  In  this 
dream,  which  is  always  the  same,  I  seem  to  have  been  engaged  in 
some  great  scheme  of  practical  benevolence." 

"Practical —  What?  You  engaged  in  practical  benevolence ?" 
the  City  man  asked,  in  profound  astonishment.  The  illusion  was 
astonishing  enough ;  but  to  have  his  brother  talk  of  practical 
benevolence  was  amazing  indeed. 

"Practical   benevolence,"    repeated    Mr.   Bering.      Ilis    voice 


THE    IVORY    GATE  99 

dropped.  His  eyes  looked  out  into  space ;  lie  seemed  as  one 
who  narrates  a  story.  "  It  is  a  curiously  persistent  dream.  It 
comes  at  irregular  intervals;  it  pleases  me  while  it  lasts.  Oh  !  in 
the  evening,  after  dinner — while  one  takes  a  nap  in  the  easy-chair, 
perhaps — it  is,  as  I  said,  quite  vivid.  The  action  of  this  dream 
always  takes  place  in  the  same  room — a  large  room,  plainly  fur- 
nished, and  looking  out  upon  an  open  space — I  should  know  it  if 
I  saw  it;  and  it  fills  me  with  pleasure — in  ray  dream — just  to  feel 
that  I  am — there  is  no  other  word  for  it — diffusing  happiness. 
IIow  I  manage  this  diffusion  I  can  never  remember ;  but  there  it 
is — good,  solid  happiness,  such  as,  in  waking  moments,  one  feels 
to  be  impossible." 

"Diffusing  happiness — you  !"  said  his  brother. 

*'  A  very  beautiful  dream,"  said  Elsie.  But  no  one  dared  to 
look  in  each  other's  face. 

"  This  strange  dream  of  niiiie,"  continued  Mr.  Bering,  "  does  not 
form  part  of  that  little  illusion,  though  it  seems  connected  with  it. 
And,  as  I  said,  mostly  it  comes  in  the  evening.  The  other  day, 
however,  I  had  it  in  the  afternoon — went  to  sleep  in  my  office,  I 
suppose.     Did  you  find  mc  asleep,  Checkley  ?     It  was  on  Friday." 

"No.     On  Friday  afternoon  you  wont  out." 

'*  Ah  !  When  I  came  back,  then — I  had  forgotten  that  I  went 
out.  Did  I  go  out?  Strange!  Never  mind.  This  continuous 
dream  opens  up  a  world  of  new  ideas  and  things  which  arc,  I 
perceive,  when  I  am  awake,  quite  unreal  and  illusory.  Yet  they 
please.  I  see  myself,  as  I  said,  diffusing  happiness  with  open 
bands.  The  world  which  is  thus  made  happier  consists  entirely 
of  poor  people.  I  move  among  them  unseen ;  I  listen  to  them  ; 
I  see  what  they  do,  and  I  hear  what  they  say.  Mind — all  this  is 
as  real  and  true  to  me  as  if  it  actually  happened.  And  it  fills  me 
with  admiration  of  the  blessed  state  of  poverty.  In  my  dream  I 
pity  the  rich  with  all  my  heart.  To  get  rich,  I  think — in  this 
dream — they  must  have  practised  so  many  deceptions — " 

"Brother!  brother!"     Sir  Samuel  held  up  both  hands. 

"In  my  dream — only  in  my  dream.  Those  who  inherit  riches 
are  burdened  with  the  weight  of  their  wealth,  which  will  not  suf- 
fer them  to  enter  into  the  arena;  will  not  allow  them  to  develop 
and  to  exercise  their  talents;  and  affiicts  them  with  the  mental  and 
bodily  diseases  that  belong  to  indolence.  The  poor,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  live  from  day  to  day,  sometimes  out  of  work  for  weeks 


100  THE    IVORY    GATE 

together,  practise  easily  the  simple  virtues  of  brotherly  love,  char- 
ity, and  mutual  helpfulness.  They  have  learned  to  combine  for 
the  good  of  all,  rather  than  to  fight,  one  against  another,  for  self- 
ish gain.  It  is  the  only  world  where  all  are  borrowing  and  lend- 
ing, giving  and  helping." 

"  Brother,  this  dream  of  yours  is  like  a  Socialist  tract." 
"  It  may  be.     Yet  you  see  how  strongly  it  takes  hold  of  me 
— that,  while  I  see  the  absurdity  of  the  whole  thing,  it  is  not  un- 
pleasing  to  recall  the  recollection  of  it.     Well — I  do  not  know 
what  set  me  talking  about  this  dream." 

The  smiles  left  his  face ;  he  became  grave  again ;  he  ceased  to 
talk ;  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  was  once  more  the  old  solic- 
itor, weighed  down  with  the  affairs  of  other  people. 

"Chcckley" — it  was  on  the  door-step,  and  Sir  Samuel  waited 
while  his  wife  said  a  few  fond  things  to  her  sister — "  what  the 
devil  came  over  my  brother  to-night?" 

"  I  don't  know  indeed,  Sir  Samuel.  I  never  heard  him  talk 
like  that  before.  Doin'  good  to  'cm  ? — servin'  a  writ  upon  'em 
is  more  our  line.  I  think  he  must  be  upset  somewhere  in  his  in- 
side, and  it's  gone  to  his  head." 

"  Practical  benevolence  ?  Living  for  other  people?  Have  you 
heard  him  complain  of  anything?" 

"  No,  Sir  Samuel.  He  never  complains.  Eats  hearty  ;  walks 
upright  and  strong;  works  like  he  always  has  worked.  Doin' 
good !  And  the  blessedness  of  being  pore  !  Seems  most  won- 
derful. Blessedness  of  being  pore !  Well,  Sir  Samuel,  I've  en- 
joyed that  blessedness  myself,  and  I  know  what  it's  like.  Any 
or'nary  preachin'  chap  might  talk  that  nonsense ;  but  for  your 
eminent  brother,  Sir  Samuel,  such  a  lawyer  as  him — tp  be  talking 
such  stuff — if  I  may  humbly  so  speak  of  my  learned  master's 
words — it  is.  Sir  Samuel,  it  really  is !" 

"He  said  it  was  a  dream,  remember.  Cut  I  agree  with  you, 
Checkley.     It  is  amazing." 

"Humph!  The  blessedness  of  being  pore!  And  over  such  a 
glass  of  port,  too !  I  thought  I  should  ha'  rolled  off  my  chair — I 
did,  indeed.     Here's  your  good  lady,  Sir  Samuel." 

"Elsie,"  said  Mrs.  Arundel  in  the  carriage,  "I  think  it  was 
high  time  that  Mr.  Bering  should  take  a  partner.     He  to  dream 


THE    IVOHY    GATE  101 

of  practical  benevolence  ?  He  to  be  diffusing  happiness  with  open 
hands  ?  Oh !  most  lamentable — I  call  it.  However,  the  deeds 
are  signed,  and  we  are  all  right.  In  case  of  anything  happening, 
it  is  a  comfort  to  think  that  George's  position  would  be  only  im- 
proved." 


CIIxVPTER  IX 

AT    THE     GATES    OF    PARADISE 


Many  women  have  advanced  the  doctrine  that  the  happiest 
time  of  life  is  that  of  their  engagement.  Of  course  no  man  can 
possibly  understand  this  theory  ;  but  from  a  woman's  point  of 
view  it  can  be  defended  because  it  is,  for  some  girls,  the  most  de- 
lightful thing  in  the  world  to  be  wooed;  and  until  the  church 
service  is  actually  said,  and  the  ring  is  on  the  finger,  the  bride  is 
queen  and  mistress;  afterwards — not  always.  But  the  happiness 
of  it  depends  upon  its  being  a  courtship  without  obstacles.  Now 
in  the  case  of  the  young  couple  whose  fortunes  we  are  following 
there  was  plenty  of  love,  with  excellent  wooing;  but  the  engage- 
ment had  been  opposed  by  the  whole  tribe  of  Arundels,  so  that 
every  time  she  met  her  lover  it  was  in  open  rebellion  against  her 
mother.  To  go  home  from  a  walk  with  him  only  to  find  the 
silence  of  resentment  at  home  is  not  pleasant.  Again,  we  have 
seen  liow  they  were  looking  forward  to  a  life  of  poverty — even  of 
privation.  Dame  Penury,  with  her  pinching  ways  and  shrewish 
tongue,  was  going  to  be  their  constant  lodger.  Then  the  young 
man  could  not  choose  but  ask  himself  whether  he  was  not  a  self- 
ish beast  to  take  a  girl  out  of  plenty  into  privation.  And  the 
girl  could  not  choose  but  ask  herself  whether  she  was  not  selfish 
in  laying  this  great  burden  upon  the  back  of  her  lover.  No  one 
can  bo  indifferent  to  such  a  prospect ;  no  one  can  contemplate 
with  pleasure  the  cheese-parings,  the  savings,  the  management,  of 
such  a  life ;  no  one  can  like  having  to  make  a  penny  do  the  work 
of  sixpence;  no  one  can  rejoice  as  one  stops  down,  down,  down 
the  social  ladder;  no  one  can  antici{)ate  with  satisfaction  the  loss 
of  gentlehood  for  the  daughters,  and  the  loss  of  an  adequate  edu- 
cation for  the  sons. 


102  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  You  will  make  mc  liappy,"  said  tlic  lover,  "  at  the  cost  of  ev- 
erything that  makes  life  happy  for  yourself." 

"  If  I  make  yon  happy,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  ask  for  nothing  more. 
But  oh  !  I  am  laying  a  heavy  hurden  upon  you.  Can  you  bear 
it?  Will  you  never  blame  mc  if  the  burden  is  greater  than  you 
can  bear?" 

And  now  all  the  trouble  vanished  like  a  cloud  from  tlie  morn- 
ing sky — vanished  so  completely  that  there  was  not  a  trace  of  it 
left  anywhere.  The  accusing  figure  of  her  mother  was  changed 
into  a  smiling  face  of  pleased  and  satisfied  maternity  ;  reproaches 
were  turned  into  words  of  endearment,  angry  looks  to  presents 
and  caresses.  And  as  for  her  sister,  you  might  have  thought  that 
all  this  good  fortune  was  actually  achieved  and  conquered  by  Elsie 
— otherwise,  how  could  one  justify  the  praise  and  flattery  that 
Hilda  now  lavished  upon  her?  She  gave  a  great  dinner  as  a  kind 
of  official  reception  of  the  bridegroom  into  the  family  ;  she  also 
gave  a  dance,  at  which  she  herself  was  the  most  beautiful  woman 
— she  stood  in  a  conspicuous  place  all  the  evening,  magnificently 
dressed,  statuesque,  wonderful !  and  Elsie  was  the  prettiest  girl  at 
the  party ;  but  between  the  most  beautiful  woman  and  the  pret- 
tiest girl  was  a  difference!  There  is  nothing  like  good  fortune 
to  bring  out  a  girl's  good  qualities ;  Elsie  had  always  had  friends  ; 
now  she  might  have  numbered  them  by  hundreds.  Good  fortune 
breeds  friends  as  the  sunshine  creates  the  flowers.  She  was  con- 
gratulated, caressed,  and  flattered  enough  to  turn  her  head.  Now, 
girls  are  so  constituted  that  tliey  love  admiration,  whicli  is  a  kind 
of  affection,  even  when  it  takes  the  form  of  flattery  ;  and  their 
heads  may  be  easily  turned  ;  but  they  are  as  easily  turned  back 
again.  And  the  house — the  widow's  house — which  for  so  many 
years  had  been  so  dull  and  quiet  a  place,  was  transformed  into  a 
place  of  entertainment.  It  only  wanted  colored  lamps  to  make  it 
another  Vauxhall ;  it  was  crowded  every  night  with  the  younger 
friends  of  bride  and  bridegroom.  George  had  many  friends,  lie 
was  gregarious  by  nature ;  he  was  a  rowing  man  on  the  athletic 
side ;  he  had  a  healthy  love  and  a  light  hand  for  things  like  bill- 
iards, shooting,  and  fishing;  they  are  tastes  which  assist  in  the 
creation  of  friendships. 

These  friends — young  fellows  of  like  mind — came  to  the  house 
in  multitudes  to  rally  round  the  man  about  to  desert  their  ranks. 
Young  men  are  forgiving.     George  would  row  no  more  among 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


103 


them  ;  he  would  be  lost  to  the  billiard-table,  and  to  the  club  itself; 
yet  they  forgave  him,  and  accepted  his  invitation,  and  went  to 
see  the  bride:  They  found  her  with  the  friends  of  her  own  age. 
Heavens !  bow  the  daring  of  one  man  in  taking  away  a  maiden 
from  the  band  encourages  others !  There  are  six  love-stories,  at 
least,  all  rising  out  of  these  evenings,  and  all  of  surpassing  inter- 
est, had  one  the  time  to  write  them.  They  are  both  grave  and 
gay ;  there  are  tears  in  every  one ;  the  course  of  true  love  in  no 
case  ran  smooth  except  in  the  story  of  the  Two  Stupids.  Love's 
enemies  can  never  effect  aught  against  a  stupid,  and  so  these  Two 
Stupids  became  engaged  without  opposition,  and  were  married 
with  acclamations;  but  they  are  too  stupid— perhaps— to  know 
their  own  happiness. 

All  this  went  on  for  three  weeks.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
happy  pair  should  be  married  in  the  middle  of  August;  they  had 
resolved  to  spend  their  honeymoon  in  France,  staying  a  few  days 
in  Paris,  and  then  going  on  to  see  the  towns  and  the  country  along 
the  Loire,  with  the  old  city  of  Tours  for  their  centre.  They  pro- 
posed to  live  entirely  upon  fruit  and  wine  and  kisses.  No  place 
in  the  world  like  Touraine  for  those  who  are  so  young,  and  so 
much  in  love,  and  so  perfectly  satisfied  with  so  simple  a  diet. 
Even  for  those  who  take  a  cutlet  with  the  fruit  and  the  wine, 
there  is  no  place  equal  to  Touraine.  Meantime,  against  the 
home-coming,  a  desirable  tiat  was  secured — not  one  of  your  little 
economical  flats,  all  drawing-room,  with  two  or  three  rabbit-hutches 
for  bedrooms,  but  a  large  and  highly  decorated  flat,  with  all  the 
newest  appliances,  large  rooms,  and  a  lift  and  plenty  of  space  for 
the  dinner-parties  and  receptions  which  Elsie  would  have  to  give. 
The  servants  were  engaged.  The  furniture  was  ordered,  all  in 
the  advanced  taste  of  the  day — carpets,  curtains,  pictures,  over- 
mantels, cabinets,  screens.  Elsie  went  every  day  to  her  new  home, 
and  found  something  omitted,  and  sat  down  in  it  to  wonder  what 
it  would  be  like— tliis  new  life  she  was  entering  upon.  Oh !  it 
was  a  busy  time.  Then  there  was  her  trousseau  —  everybody 
knows  the  amount  of  thought  and  care  required  for  a  trousseau ; 
this  was  approaching  completion — everybody  knows  the  happi- 
ness, peculiar  and  unlike  any  other  kind  of  happiness,  with  which 
a  girl  contemplates  a  heap  of  "  things"  all  her  own.  I  suppose 
that  it  is  only  at  her  wedding  that  she  can  enjoy  this  happiness, 
for  afterwards  the  "things"  ore  not  her  own,  but  the  things  of 


104  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  family.  The  bride's  dress,  another  thing  of  supreme  impor- 
tance, had  been  tried  on,  though  as  yet  it  was  very,  very  far  from 
being  finished.  The  bridesmaids,  two  of  George's  sisters,  liad 
also  already  tried  on  their  dresses.  They  came  every  day — two 
very  sweet  girls,  who  have  both  to  do  with  those  six  love-stories 
which  will  never,  I  fear,  be  told — to  talk  over  the  events  and  to 
see  the  presents.  These  came  in  daily,  and  were  laid  out  in  a 
room  by  themselves,  looking  very  splendid  ;  their  splendor  proved 
the  wealth  and  the  position  of  the  pair,  because  rich  presents  are 
only  given  to  rich  people. 

In  a  word,  everybody  was  heartily,  loyally  sympathetic,  as  if 
to  make  up  for  the  previous  harshness  and  coldness.  For  three 
weeks  this  happiness  lasted!  It  was  on  Monday,  June  29th, 
that  the  golden  shower  descended  upon  them  ;  it  was  on  Monday, 
July  20th,  that  the  rain  of  gold  ceased,  and  another  kind  of 
cloud  came  up  which  speedily  changed  into  a  driving  storm  of 
rain  and  sleet,and  hail  and  ice  and  snow. 

Look  at  them  on  Sunday,  Before  the  storm  there  is  generally 
a  brief  time  of  sunshine,  warm  and  fine;  after  the  storm,  the  calm 
that  follows  is  a  time  of  dismay,  speechless  and  tearless.  Sun- 
day was  the  day  before  the  storm ;  it  was  a  day  of  sunshine  with- 
out and  within.  The  lovers  spent  the  whole  day  together,  hand 
in  hand.  They  went  to  church  together,  tliey  sat  side  by  side, 
they  warbled  off  the  same  hymn-book.  The  service  proved,  as 
the  preacher  used  to  say,  a  season  of  refreshment,  for  never  doth 
religion  so  uplift  the  soul  as  when  it  is  entirely  happy  ;  the  voices 
of  the  choir  chanting  the  psalms  filled  them  with  joy,  and  would 
have  done  so  even  if  they  had  been  penitential  minors  and  the 
lamentation  of  a  sinner.  Their  hearts  rose  higher  and  higher  as 
the  preacher  exhorted,  and  would  have  flown  upwards  just  a» 
much  whether  he  had  brandished  the  terrors  of  the  law  or  held 
out  the  gracious  promise  of  the  Gospel.  For,  you  see,  at  such  a 
time  as  this,  whatever  was  said  or  done  only  led  this  faithful  pair 
farther  and  deeper  into  the  shady  glades  and  fragrant  lawns  and 
flowery  dells  of  Love's  Paradise. 

Every  church,  at  every  service,  and  especially  in  the  evening, 
contains  many  such  lovers.  You  may  know  them  by  certain  in- 
fallible signs.  They  sit  very  close  together;  they  sing  off  the 
same  book;  their  faces  betray  by  the  rigidity  of  their  attitude, 
which  is  that  of  pretended  attention,  the  far-away  expression  of 


THE    IVORY    GATE  105 

their  eyes,  and  the  absence  of  any  external  sign  of  emotion  or 
sympathy  with  the  preacher,  that  their  hands,  beneath  some  folds 
of  tlie  feminine  gabardine,  are  closely  clasped.  It  has  sometimes 
pleased  the  philosopher,  and  relieved  tlie  tedium  of  a  dull  sermon, 
to  look  round  the  congregation,  and  to  pick  out  the  lovers — here 
a  pair  and  there  a  pair.  Even  in  the  church,  you  see,  Love  is 
conqueror  and  king. 

These  lovers,  therefore,  went  to  church  in  a  frame  of  mind 
truly  heavenly ;  nobody  in  the  whole  congregation  felt  more 
deeply  pious;  every  response  was  an  act  of  praise;  every  prayer 
an  act  of  gratitude;  every  hymn  £f  personal  thank-offering.  Be- 
neath those  calm  faces  was  flying  and  rushing  a  whirlwind  and 
confusion  of  hopes,  memories,  plans,  projects,  and  gratitudes. 
lie  who  looks  back  upon  the  days  immediately  before  his  wed- 
ding-day— most  men  no  more  remember  their  own  emotions 
than  a  child  remembers  yesterday's  ear-ache — will  wonder  how 
he  lived  through  that  time  of  change,  when  all  that  he  prayed 
for  was  granted,  but  on  the  condition  of  a  turning  upside  down 
of  all  his  habits,  customs,  and  petted  ways. 

All  round  them  sat  the  people,  no  doubt  with  minds  wholly 
attuned  to  the  service  of  prayer  and  praise.  Well,  the  sheep  in 
a  flock  to  outward  seeming  are  all  alike,  yet  every  animal  has  his 
own  desires  and  small  ambitions  for  himself.  So,  I  suppose,  with 
the  congregation.  As  every  man  shuts  the  street-door  behind 
him,  and  trudges  along  the  way  to  church — the  Via  Sacra — with 
wife  and  children,  he  carries  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  close  to  his 
heart,  a  little  packet  of  business  cares  to  think  upon  during  the 
sermon.  And  if  all  the  thoughts  of  all  the  people  could  be  col- 
lected after  the  sermon,  instead  of  the  offertory,  they  would  make 
a  salutary  oblation  indeed. 

"George,"  said  Elsie,  as  they  came  out,  "let  us  go  into  the 
Gardens,  and  sit  under  a  tree,  and  talk.  Let  us  get  away  from 
everybody  for  half  an  hour." 

Kensington  Gardens  were  filled  with  the  customary  throng  of 
those  who,  like  themselves,  had  been  to  church.  The  carping 
philosopher  says  unkind  things  about  church,  and  gardens,  and 
fashion.  As  if  church  would  ever  keep  like  from  congregating 
with  like !  There  were  shoals  of  beautiful  girls,  dressed  as  well 
as  they  knew  or  could  afford ;  dozens  of  young  fellows,  and  with 
them  the  no-longer-quite-so-young,  the  no-longer-young,  the  no- 
5* 


106  THE    IVORY    GATE 

longcr-young-at-al],  the  middle-aged,  the  elderly,  and  the  old,  not 
to  speak  of  the  children.  Elsie  looked  up  and  down  the  walk. 
"  We  are  never  so  niiioh  alone  as  in  a  crowd,"  she  said,  with  the 
air  that  some  girls  assume  of  saying  an  original  thing — which  no 
woman  ever  did  say  yet,  unless  by  accident. 

They  joined  the  stream ;  presently  George  led  the  girl  out  of 
the  road  and  across  the  grass  to  a  place  where  two  or  three  chairs 
were  set  under  the  trees.  They  sat  down.  Then  occurred  the 
miracle  Avrought  in  these  gardens  every  day  and  all  day  long. 
Out  of  the  ground  sprang  a  man — for  such  ho  seemed,  though 
doubtless  a  sjiirit-messcngcr — who  demanded  twopence.  This 
paid,  he  vanished  straightway.     After  the  ceremony  they  talked. 

"  George,"  said  the  girl,  "  every  day  now,  wherever  I  am,  even 
at  church,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  jump  up  and  to  sing  and 
dance.  This  morning  I  should  have  liked  a  service  all  to  our- 
selves— you  to  reail,  and  I  to  sing;  you  to  pray,  and  I  to  praise. 
I  kept  wondering  if  there  was  any  girl  in  the  place  so  happy  as 
myself — or  so  unhappy  as  I  was  three  short  weeks  ago." 

"Elsie,"  said  George — a  simple  thing  to  say,  but  it  had  a 
thousand  meanings. 

"  We  have  not  deserved  it;  indeed,  indeed,  we  have  not.  Why 
are  we  singled  out  for  such  joy?  We  already  had  the  greatest 
tiling  of  all — we  had  love.  That  is  happiness  enough  for  some 
women.  Wx  only  wanted  a  little  more  money,  and  now  we  liavc 
all  this  great  fortune." 

"  It  is  wonderful,  Elsie." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his,  and  spoke,  in  her  sweet,  low  voice, 
gazing  upwards.  "  George  !  I  am  so  happy  that  I  want  everybody 
else  to  be  happy  as  well.  The  angels,  I  am  sure,  must  lose  some 
of  their  joy  in  wishing  that  all  were  with  them.  I  pity  all 
those  poor  girls  who  have  no  lovers;  all  those  poor  married 
people  who  are  lying  in  poverty;  all  those  poor  creatures  who  are 
trying  for  what  they  cannot  get;  all  those  who  are  weeping  out- 
side the  gates  of  Heaven.  George,  it  is  a  beautiful  world,  and 
it  should  be  such  a  happy  world ;  there  should  be  nothing  but 
joy  all  through  life.  There  is  such  an  abundance  of  happiness 
possible  in  it.  Sadness  is  only  a  passing  cloud ;  anxiety  is  only 
a  touch  of  east  wind;  evil  and  pain  are  only  fleeting  shadows." 

^le  sighed,  and  clasped  lier  hands,  and  the  tears  rose  to  her 
eyes. 


lOY 

THE    IVORY    GATE 


"  Wc  shall  crow  old  toc^ether,  George,"  she  went  on   murmur- 
•         .tLV    nn  spcakin^-I  omit  her  lover's  interruptions   and 

-■;."•;  j='r;sr  =.;:?. -;..s  :^..; 

r       :  ..  Afr    n^rincr  imacrined— tlircc  weeks  ago.     Evcrv- 
T"  "T  i  rilt:  •   Ev'   y  i.all  co™e  laJon  with  its  o.n 

:r::  tit  'lid  „:.  Yf  ^e  couw  ...p  it,  suaor  u  to  go 

joy,  SO  tlial  1^^^  ^^.^^  trembled  and 

:2'\.dt  OS  filled  «m.  tears.'  "  Life  shall  be  all  happiness 
rood  inlnde'd  for  us.  Even  death  „HI  be  litt  e  so™»  for  e 
Laration  »ill  be  so  short."  Once  more  she  laid  her  hand  on  li.s. 
E  "n  to  the  most  frivolous  the  prospeet  of  the  wedded  ,0 
a«k  nsVrave  and  solemn  thoughts;  tor  those  .ho  have  eyes  to 
s  c  and  ears  to  hear  and  brains  to  understand,  there  >s  no  pros- 
peet  so  eharged  with  ehanees  and  possibilit.es,  where  even  hfo 
itself  may  become  a  death  in  life. 

AVhen  Geor-e  left  her  in  the  evening  he  drove  to  see  Athelstan. 

'so"  he  said,  "you  have  been  courting  all  day,  I  suppose. 

You  o^ght  to  haJe  had  enough  of  it.     Sit  down,  and  have  some- 

thin.-a  pipe-a  cigar.     ^Vell-you  are  going  to  bo  very  pll>. 

I  su;pose      Elsie's  little  fortune  will  help  a  bit,  won  t  it? 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed."  ,  n  ,„,  tl.at  the 

"Yes-I'vc  been  very  glad  ever  since  you  told  me  that  he 
child  had  had  this  stroke  of  luck.  I  wonder  who  gav.  her  the 
^  oney»  To  be  sure  there  is  plenty  of  money  knocking  about 
rr.  the  Arundels.  Most  of  us  have  had  ^  -t  f  >nsUnc.  f 
makincr  money.  Put  us  down  anywhere  among  a  lot  of  men  n 
a  cit3-"and  wJ begin  to  transfer  the  contents  of  their  pockets  to 


our  own. 


108  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"Meanwliilc,  give  up  this  old  resentment.  Come  back  to  your 
own  people.     Come  to  our  wedding." 

"I  cannot  possibly,  unless  you  will  tell  me  who  forged  that 
check.  How  could  I  go  back  to  people  who  still  believe  jne 
guilty  ?  When  you  are  married,  I  will  go  and  see  Elsie,  which  I 
can  do  with  a  light  heart.  You  have  not  told  any  one  about  my 
return  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  No  one  suspects,  and  no  one  talks  or  thinks 
about  you." 

Athelstan  laughed  a  little.  "That  is  a  doubtful  piece  of  in- 
formation. Am  I  to  rejoice  or  to  weep  because  I  am  completely 
forgutten  and  out  of  mind  ?     It  is  rather  humiliating,  isn't  it?" 

"  You  are  not  forgotten  at  all.  That  is  a  different  thing. 
Only  tiiey  do  not  speak  of  you." 

"  Well,  George,  never  mind  that  now.  I  am  glad  you  came 
to-night,  because  I  have  some  news  for  you.  I  have  found  the 
commissionnaire  who  took  the  check  to  the  bank — actually  found 
the  man." 

"  No  !     After  all  these  years  ?" 

"I  wrote  out  the  particulars  of  the  case — briefly.  Yesterday 
I  took  the  paper  to  the  commissioiinaircs'  barrack  in  the  Strand, 
and  offered  a  reward  for  the  recovery  of  the  man  who  had  cashed 
the  check.  That  same  evening  the  man  presented  himself,  and 
claimed  the  reward,  lie  remembered  the  thing  very  well — for 
this  reason  :  the  gentleman  who  employed  him  first  sent  him  with 
a  bag  to  a  parcel-delivery  oflQce ;  he  did  not  look  at  the  address. 
The  gentleman  was  staying  at  the  Cecil  Hotel.  Now,  the  com- 
missionnaire was  a  one-armed  man.  Because  be  had  only  one  arm, 
the  gentleman — who  was  a  pleasant-spoken  gentleman — gave  him 
ten  shillings  for  his  trouble,  which  was  nine  shillings  more  than 
his  proper  pay.  The  gentleman  sent  him  to  the  bank  with  this 
check  to  cash,  and  he  returned  with  seven  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  in  ten-pound  notes.  Then  it  was  that  the  gentleman — 
who  seems  to  have  been  a  free-handed  gentleman — gave  him  ten 
shillings.  The  man  says  that  he  would  know  that  gentleman 
anywhere.  He  was  old,  and  had  gray  hair.  He  says  that  be 
should  know  him  wherever  be  saw  him.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"  Well — it  is  something,  if  you  could  find  that  old  man." 

*'  Why,    of    course    it    was   Checkley — gray-haired    Checkley. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  109 

We'll  catch  that  old  fox  yet.  Beware  of  Chccklcy.  lie's  a  fox. 
He's  a  worm.  He's  a  creeping  centipede.  When  the  old  man 
goes  you  must  make  Checkley  pack." 


CHAPTER  X 

A    MYSTERIOUS    DISCOVERY 


On  Monday  morning  the  unexpected  liappcned.  It  came  with 
more  than  common  malignity.  In  fact,  nothing  more  threaten- 
ing to  the  persons  chiefly  concerned  in  the  calamity  could  have 
happened,  though  at  first  they  were  happily  spared  the  com- 
prehension of  its  full  significance. 

There  is  a  wide-spread  superstition — so  wide  that  it  must  be 
true — that  at  those  rare  moments  when  one  feels  foolishly  happy, 
at  peace  with  all  the  world,  at  peace  with  one's  own  conscience, 
all  injuries  forgiven,  the  future  stretched  out  before  like  a  sunlit 
peaceful  lake,  some  disaster,  great  or  small,  is  certainly  imminent. 
"  Don't  feel  too  happy,"  says  Experience  Universal.  "  The  gods 
resent  the  happiness  of  man.  Affect  a  little  anxiety.  Assume  a 
certain  sadness.  Restrain  that  dancing  leg.  If  you  must  shake 
it,  do  so  as  if  by  accident,  or  as  if  in  terror — for  choice,  sliakc  it 
over  an  open  grave  in  the  church-yard.  Stop  singing  that  song 
of  joy  ;  try  the  lamentation  of  a  sinner  instead.  So  will  the 
gods  be  deceived.  Above  all,  never  allow  yourself  to  believe 
that  the  devil  is  dead.  He  is  not  even  asleep.  By  carefully 
observing  these  precautions,  a  great  many  misfortunes  may  be 
averted.  If,  for  instance,  George  had  gone  home  soberly  on  Sun- 
day night,  instead  of  carrying  on  like  a  school-boy  in  play-time, 
obviously  happy,  and  so  inviting  calamity,  perhaps  he  would  never 
have  been  connected — as  lie  afterwards  became — with  thisdisaster. 

You  have  heard  that  Mr.  Dering  was  a  man  of  method.  Every 
morning  he  arrived  at  his  oifice  at  a  quarter  before  ten  ;  he  bung 
up  his  coat  and  hat  in  a  recess  behind  the  door;  he  then  opened 
his  safe  with  his  own  hand.  Checkley  had  already  laid  out  the 
table  with  a  clean  blotting-pad,  pens,  and  letter-paper ;  he  liad 
also  placed  the  letters  of  the  day  upon  the  pad.     The  reading  of 


110  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  letters  began  the  day's  work.  Tlic  lawyer  read  them,  made 
notes  upon  tliem,  rang  for  his  shorthand  clerk,  and  dictated  an- 
swers. These  despatched,  he  turned  to  the  standing  business. 
This  morning,  with  the  usual  routine,  he  was  plodding  through 
the  letters  of  the  day,  taking  up  one  after  the  other  and  reading 
half  mechanically.  Presently  he  opened  one,  and  looked  at  the 
heading.  "  Ellis  <fc  Northcote,"  he  said.  "  What  do  they 
want?''  Then  he  suddenly  stopped  short,  and  started.  Then  he 
bcfjan  the  letter  again,  and  again  he  stop])ed  short.  It  was  from 
his  brokers  in  the  City,  and  it  recommended  a  certain  advantageous 
investment.  That  was  not  in  itself  very  extraordinary.  But  it 
contained  the  following  remarkable  passage:  "You  have  made 
such  great  transfers  and  so  many  sales  during  the  last  few 
months  that  you  have  probably  more  profitable  uses  for  money  in 
your  own  business.  But  if  you  should  have  a  few  thousands  avail- 
able at  the  present  moment  it  is  a  most  favorable  opportunity—" 

"Great  transfers  and  many  sales?"  asked  Mr.  Dering,  bewilder- 
ed.    "  What  transfers?     AVhat  sales  does  he  mean?'' 

lie  turned  over  the  pages  of  his  diary,  lie  could  find  no 
transactions  of  the  kind  at  all.  Then  he  reflected  again.  "I  can 
remember  no  transfers,"  he  murmured.  "  Is  this  another  trick  of 
memory  ?" 

Finally  he  touched  the  bell  upon  his  table. 

"  Checkley,"  said  Mr.  Dering,  on  the  appearance  of  the  ancient 
clerk,  "  I  have  got  a  letter  that  I  don't  understand  at  all.  I  told 
you  that  my  memory  was  going.  Now  you  see.  Here  is  a  letter 
about  transfers  and  sales  of  stock.  AVhat  transfers?  I  don't 
understand  one  word  of  it.  My  memory  is  not  only  going — it 
is  gone." 

"  Memory  going  ?  Nonsense  !"  the  old  man  shook  liis  head. 
"  No,  no ;  your  memory  is  all  right.  Mine  is  as  clear  as  a  bell 
— so's  yours.  You  eat  hearty — so  do  I.  You  sleep  well — so  do 
I.     We're  both  as  hale  and  hearty  as  ever." 

"  No,  no ;  my  memory  is  not  what  it  was.  I've  told  you  so 
a  dozen  times.  I  lose  myself  sometimes.  Yesterday,  when  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  I  thought  it  was  only  ten.  I  had  lost  two 
hours.  And  sometimes,  when  I  walk  home,  I  lose  recollection  of 
the  walk  afterwards." 

"  Tut,  tut !  nobody  of  your  age  is  such  a  young  man  as  you. 
Why,  you  walk  like  five-and-twenty.     And  you  eat  hearty — you 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


111 


eat  very  licarty."  His  words  were  encouraging,  but  lie  looked 
anxiously  at  his  master.  Truly,  there  was  no  apparent  decay  in 
Mr.  Dering.     lie  sat  as  upright,  he  looked  as  keen,  he  spoke  as 

clearly  as  ever. 

u  Well— about  this  letter.  My  friend  P^llis,  of  Ellis  k  North- 
cote,  writes  to  me  about  something  or  other,  and  speaks  of  my 
effecting  great  transfers  and  sales  of  stock  lately.     What  does 

he  mean  ?" 

"  You  haven't  bought  or  sold  any  stock  lately  that  I  know  of." 

"  Well,  you  would  have  known.  Have  we  had  to  make  any 
investments  for  clients  of  late?  There  was  the  Dalton- Smith 
estate." 

"  That  was  eleven  months  ago." 

"  I  suppose  he  must  mean  that— he  can't  mean  anything  else. 
Yes,  that  is  it.  Well,  I've  got  a  partner  now,  so  that  it  matters 
less 'than  it  would  have  done— had  my  memory  played  me  tricks 
with  no  other  responsible  man  in  the  place." 

"  You  didn't  want  a  partner,"  said  Checkley  jealously.     "  You 

had  me." 

"  He  must  mean  that,"  Mr.  Bering  repeated.  "  lie  can't  mean 
anything  else.     However—     Has  my  bank-book  been  made  up 

lately  «" 

"  Here  it  is.  Made  up  last  Friday— nothing  been  m  or  out  smce. 

Mr.  Dering  had  not  looked  at  his  book  for  three  or  four 
months.  He  was  well  served ;  his  people  took  care  of  his  bank- 
book. Now  he  opened  it,  and  began  to  run  his  finger  up  and 
down  the  pages. 

"  Checkley,"  he  said,  "  what  has  happened  to  Newcastle  Cor- 
poration Stock  ?  The  dividends  were  due  some  weeks  ago— they 
are  not  paid  yet.  Is  the  town  gone  bankrupt?  xVnd  — eh? 
Where  is  Wolverhampton  ?  And— and— "  He  turned  over  the 
pages  quickly.  "  Checkley,  there  is  something  wrong  with  the 
book.  Not  a  single  dividend  of  anything  entered  for  the  last  four 
months.     There  ought  to  have  been  about  six  hundred  pounds 

in  that  time." 

"  Queer  mistake,"  said  Checkley.  "  I'll  take  the  book  round 
to  the  bank,  and  have  it  corrected." 

"  A  very  gross  and  careless  mistake,  I  call  it.  Tell  the  man- 
ao-er  I  said  so.  Let  it  be  set  right  at  once,  Checkley— at  once— 
and  while  you  wait.     And  bring  it  back  to  me." 


112  THE    IVORY    GATE 

The  bank  was  in  Chancery  Lane,  close  to  the  office.  The  old 
clerk  went  off  on  his  errand. 

"  A  very  careless  mistake,"  the  lawyer  repeated  ;  "  any  clerk 
of  mine  who  committed  such  a  mistake  should  be  dismissed  at 
once."  In  fact,  the  certainty  of  full  and  speedy  justice  kept  Mr. 
Dering's  clerks  always  at  a  high  level  of  efficiency. 

lie  returned  to  the  letters,  apparently  with  no  further  uneasi- 
ness. 

After  ten  minutes,  Checkley  taking  longer  than  he  expected, 
Mr.  Dering  became  aware  that  his  attention  was  wandering. 
"Great  transfers  and  many  sales,"  he  repeated.  "  After  all,  he 
must  mean  the  investn)ent  of  that  Dalton-Smith  money.  Yet 
that  was  only  a  single  transaction.  What  can  he  mean  ?  lie 
must  have  made  a  mistake,  lie  must  be  thinking  of  another 
client.  It's  his  memory,  not  mine,  that  is  confused.  That's  it 
— his  memory." 

The  large  open  safe  in  the  corner  was  filled  with  stacks  of 
paper  tied  uj)  and  endorsed.  These  papers  contained,  among 
other  things,  the  securities  for  the  whole  of  Mr.  Dering's  private 
fortune,  which  was  now  very  considerable.  Even  the  greatest 
City  magnate  would  feel  for  Mr.  Dering  the  respect  due  to  wealth 
if  he  knew  the  amount  represented  by  the  contents  of  that  safe. 
There  they  were — the  leases,  agreements,  mortgages,  deeds,  bonds, 
conveyances,  shares — all  the  legal  documents  by  which  the  wicked 
man  is  prevented  from  seizing  and  appropriating  the  rich  man's 
savings.  Formerly  the  rich  man  kept  his  money  in  a  box  with 
iron  bands,  lie  locked  up  the  box,  and  put  it  in  a  recess  in  the 
cellar  contrived  in  the  stone  wall.  If  he  was  only  a  bourgeois  it 
was  but  a  little  box,  and  he  put  it  in  a  secret  place  (but  everybody 
knew  the  secret)  at  the  head  of  his  bed.  If  he  were  a  peasant 
he  tied  his  money  up  in  a  clout,  and  put  it  under  the  hearth-stone. 
In  any  case  thieves  broke  in,  and  stole  those  riches.  Now,  grown 
wiser,  he  has  no  box  of  treasures  at  all ;  he  lends  it  all  in  various 
directions  and  to  various  associations  and  companies.  Every  rich 
man  is  a  money-lender  ;  he  is  either  Shylock  the  Great  or  Shylock 
the  Less,  according  to  the  amount  he  lends.  Thieves  can  steal 
nothing  but  paper,  which  is  no  use  to  them.  As  we  grow  wiser 
still  we  shall  have  nothing  at  all  in  any  house  that  can  be  of  any 
use  to  any  thief,  because  every  tiling  in  the  least  valuable  will  have 
its  papers,  without  the  production  of  which  nothing  of  value  will 


THE    IVORY    GATE  113 

be  bought  or  sold.  And  all  the  gold  and  silver,  whether  forlcs  or 
mugs,  will  be  lodged  in  the  bank.  Then  everybody  will  become 
honest,  and  the  eighth  commandment  will  be  forgotten. 

Among  Mr.  Dering's  papers  were  share  certificates,  bonds,  and 
scrip  of  various  kinds,  amounting  in  all  to  a  great  many  thou- 
sands. Of  this  money  a  sum  of  nearly  thirteen  thousand  pounds 
belonged  to  Elsie,  but  was  still  in  her  guardian's  name.  Tiiis,  of 
course,  was  the  fortune  which  had  fallen  so  unexpectedly  into 
the  girl's  hands.  The  rest,  amounting  to  about  twenty-five  thou- 
sand pounds,  was  his  own  money.  It  represented,  of  course,  only 
a  part — only  a  small  part — of  his  very  respectable  fortune. 

Mr.  Dering,  whose  memory,  if  it  were  decaying,  was  certainly 
clear  on  some  points,  looked  across  the  room  at  the  open  safe, 
and  began  to  think  of  the  papers  representing  their  investments, 
lie  remembered  perfectly  all  the  different  corporation  stock.  JiW 
the  water,  gas,  railway  shares;  the  Indian  stock  and  the  Colonial 
stock;  the  debenture  companies  and  the  trading  companies.  He 
was  foolish,  he  thought,  to  be  disturbed  by  a  mere  mistake  of  the 
broker;  his  recent  lapses  of  memory  had  made  him  nervous;  there 
could  be  nothing  wrong,  but  that  clerk  at  the  bank  ought  to  be 
dismissed  for  carelessness.  There  could  be  nothing  wrong ;  for 
the  sake  of  assurance  he  would  turn  out  the  papers,  but  there 
could  be  nothing  wrong. 

He  knew  very  well  where  they  were;  everything  in  his  office 
had  its  place ;  they  were  all  tied  up  together  in  a  bulky  parcel, 
bestowed  upon  a  certain  shelf  or  compartment  of  the  safe.  lie 
pushed  back  his  chair,  got  up,  and  walked  over  to  the  safe. 

Strange !  The  papers  were  not  in  their  place.  Again  he  felt 
the  former  irritation  at  having  forgotten  something.  It  was  al- 
ways returning — every  day  he  seemed  to  be  forgetting  something. 
But  the  certificates  must  be  in  the  safe.  He  stood  irresolutely 
looking  at  the  piles  of  papers,  trying  to  think  how  they  could 
have  been  displaced.  While  he  was  thus  wondering  and  gazinn- 
Checkley  came  back,  bank-book  in  hand. 

"There  is  something  wrong,"  he  said.  "No  dividends  at  all 
have  been  paid  to  your  account  for  the  last  three  months.  There 
is  no  mistake  at  the  bank.  I've  seen  the  manager;  and  he's 
looked  into  it,  and  says  there  can't  be  any  mistake  about  the 
entries." 

"  No  dividends?     What  is  the  meaning  of  it,  Checkley  ?     No 


114  THE    IVORV    GATE 

dividends?  "Why,  there's  thirty- eight  tliousand  pounds  worth 
of  stock.  The  certificates  arc  kept  here  in  the  safe  ;  only,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  I  can't  find  them  at  the  moment.  They 
must  be  in  the  safe  somewhere.  Just  help  mc  to  find  them, 
will  you  ?" 

lie  began  to  search  among  the  papers — at  first  a  little  anx- 
iously, then  nervously,  then  feverishly. 

"  Where  are  they  ?"  he  cried,  tossing  over  the  bundles.  "  They 
must  be  here.  They  must  be  here.  Let  us  turn  out  the  whole 
contents  of  the  safe.  We  must  find  them.  They  have  never 
been  kept  in  any  other  place.  Nobody  has  touched  them  or  seen 
them  except  myself." 

The  old  clerk  pulled  out  all  the  papers  in  the  safe,  and  laid 
them  in  a  great  pile  on  the  table.  ^Vhcn  there  was  nothing  left 
in  the  safe,  they  began  systematically  to  go  through  the  whole. 
When  they  had  finished  they  looked  at  each  other  blankly. 

Everything  was  there  except  the  certificates  and  scrip  repre- 
senting the  investment  of  thirty-eight  thousand  pounds.  These 
alone  could  not  be  found.  They  examined  every  packet ;  they 
opened  every  bundle  of  papers;  they  looked  into  every  folded 
sheet  of  parchment  or  foolscap.  The  certificates  were  not  in  the 
safe.  "  Well,"  said  the  clerk  at  last,  "  they're  not  here,  you  see. 
Now  then  !" 

In  the  midst  of  their  perplexity  happened  a  thing  almost  as 
surprising,  and  quite  as  unexpected,  as  the  loss  of  the  certificates. 
Among  the  papers  was  a  small  round  parcel  tied  up  with  red 
tape.  Checkley  opened  it.  "  Bank-notes,"  he  said,  and  laid  it 
aside.  They  were  not  at  the  mon)ent  looking  for  bank-notes,  but 
for  certificates.  When  he  was  satisfied  that  these  were  not  in  the 
safe,  and  had  thrown,  so  to  speak,  the  responsibility  of  finding 
out  the  cause  of  their  absence  upon  his  master,  he  took  up  once 
more  this  bundle.  It  was,  as  he  had  said,  a  bundle  of  bank-notes 
rolled  up  and  tied  round.  He  untied  the  knot  and  laid  them  flat, 
turning  up  the  corners,  and  counting.  "  Curious,"  he  said  ; 
"they're  all  ten-pound  notes — all  ten-pound  notes;  there  must 
be  more  than  fifty  of  them.  And  the  outside  one  is  covered  with 
dust.     What  are  they  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  said  Mr.  Bering  irritably.  "  Give 
them  to  me.  Bank-notes?  There  are  no  bank-notes  in  my 
safe." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  115 

"  Forgotten !"  the  clerk  murmured.  "  Client's  money,  perhaps. 
But  the  client  would  have  asked  for  it.  Five  or  six  Imndred 
pounds.  IIow  can  five  liundred  pounds  be  forgotten?  Even  a 
Rothschild  would  remember  five  hundred  pounds.  Forgotten  !" 
lie  glanced  suspiciously  at  his  master,  and  shook  his  head,  fum- 
bling among  the  papers. 

Mr.  Dcring  snatched  the  bundle  from  his  clerk.  Truly,  they 
were  bank-notes — ten-pound  bank-notes — and  they  had  been  for- 
gotten. The  clerk  was  right.  There  is  no  firm  in  the  world 
where  a  bundle  worth  five  liundred  pounds  could  be  forgotten  and 
no  inquiry  made  after  it.  Mr.  Dering  stared  blankly  at  them. 
"Notes!"  he  cried — "notes!  Ten-pound  notes!  What  notes? 
Checkley,  how  did  these  notes  come  here  ?" 

"  If  you  don't  know,"  the  clerk  replied,  "  nobody  knows. 
You've  got  the  key  of  the  safe." 

"Good   heavens!"      If   Mr.  Dering   had  been    twenty    years 
younger,  he  would  liave  jumped.      Men  of  seventy-five  are  not 
allowed  to  jump.     The  dignity  of  age  does  not  allow  of  jumping. 
"This  is  most  wonderful !     Checkley,  this  is  most  mysterious  !" 
"What  is  it?" 

"These  notes — the  devil  is  in  the  safe  to-day,  I  do  believe. 
First,  the  certificates  are  lost — that  is,  they  can't  be  found ;  and 
next,  these  notes  turn  up." 

"  What  notes  are  they,  then  ?" 

"They  are  nothing  else  than  the  bank-notes  paid  across  the 
counter  for  that  forged  check  of  eight  years  ago.  Oh  !  there  is 
no  doubt  of  it — none  whatever.  I  remember  the  numbers — the 
consecutive  numbers — seventy-two  of  them — seven  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds.  IIow  did  they  get  here?  Who  put  them  in? 
Checkley,  I  say,  how  did  these  notes  get  here?" 

He  held  the  notes  in  his  hand,  and  asked  these  questions  in 
pure  bewilderment  and  not  in  the  expectation  of  receiving  any 
reply. 

"  Tlie  notes  paid  to  that  young  gentleman  when  he  forged  the 
check,"  said  Checkley,  "must  have  been  put  back  in  the  safe  by 
him.  There's  no  other  way  to  account  for  it.  lie  was  afraid  to 
present  them.  He  heard  you  say  they  were  stopped,  and  he  put 
them  back.  I  think  I  see  him  doing  it.  While  he  was  flaring 
out  he  done  it — I'm  sure  I  see  him  doing  it." 

Mr.  Dering  received  this  suggestion  without  remark.     He  laid 


116  THE    IVORY    GATE 

down  the  notes,  and  stared  at  his  clerk.  Tlic  two  old  men  stared 
blankly  at  each  other.  l*erhaps  Checkley's  countenance,  of  the 
two,  expressed  the  greater  astonishment. 

"  How  did  those  notes  get  into  the  safe  ?"  tlie  lawyer  repeated. 
"This  is  even  a  more  wonderful  thing  than  the  mislaying  of  the 
certificates.  You  took  them  out.  Show  me  exactly  where  they 
were  lying." 

"They  were  behind  these  books.  See  I  the  outside  note  is 
covered  with  dust." 

"Tlioy  must  have  been  lying  there  all  these  years.  In  my 
safe !  The  very  notes  paid  across  the  counter  to  the  forger's 
messenger!  In  my  safe!  What  does  this  mean?  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  going  mad.     I  say —    What  docs  all  this  mean,  Chcckley  ?" 

The  clerk  made  answer  slowly,  repeating  his  former  suggestion, 

"  Since  young  Arundel  forged  the  check,  young  Arundel  got 
the  notes.  Sinoe  young  Arundel  got  the  notes,  young  Arundel 
must  have  put  them  back.  No  one  else  could.  When  young 
Arundt'l  put  them  back,  he  done  it  because  lie  was  afraid  of  your 
finding  out.  lie  put  them  back  unseen  by  you  that  day  when 
you  charged  him  with  the  crime." 

"  I  did  not  charge  him.     I  have  charged  no  one." 

"  I  charged  him,  then,  and  you  did  not  contradict.  I'd  cliarge 
liim  again  if  he  was  here." 

"Any  man  may  charge  anything  upon  any  other  man.  There 
was  no  proof  whatever,  and  none  has  ever  come  to  light." 

"You're  always  for  proofs  that  will  convict  a  man.  I  only 
said  that  nobody  else  could  do  the  thing.  As  for  putting  the 
notes  back  again  in  the  safe,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it" — his 
face  became  cunning  and  malignant — "  I  do  remember — yes — oh  ! 
yes — I  clearly  remember — I  quite  clearly  remember — I  see  it  as 
plain  as  if  it  was  before  me.  He  got  sidling  nearer  and  nearer 
the  safe  while  we  were  talking;  he  got  quite  close — so;  he 
chucked  a  bundle  in  when  he  thought  I  wasn't  looking.  I  think 
— I  almost  think — I  could  swear  to  it." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  Your  memory  is  too  clear. 
Tie  up  the  notes,  Checkley,  and  put  them  back.  They  may  help, 
perhaps,  some  time,  to  find  out  the  man.  Meantime,  let  us  go 
back  to  our  search.     Let  us  find  those  certificates." 

They  had  now  examined  every  packet  in  the  safe ;  they  had 


THE    IVORY     GATE  llV 

looked  at  every  paper ;  they  had  opened  every  book  and  searched 
throuo-h  all  the  leaves.  There  was  no  doubt  left — the  certificates 
were  not  there. 

Checkley  began  to  tic  up  the  bundles  again.  Ilis  master  sat 
down,  trying  to  remember  something — everything — that  could 
account  for  their  disappearance. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    MYSTERIOUS    DISCOVERY— (Coniinwrf) 

The  safe  disposed  of,  there  remained  a  cupboard,  two  tables 
full  of  drawers,  twenty  or  thirty  tin  boxes.  Checkley  examined 
every  one  of  these  receptacles.  In  vain.  There  was  not  anywhere 
any  trace  of  the  certificates. 

"Yet,"  said  Mr.  Bering,  "they  must  be  somewhere.  We  have 
been  hunting  all  the  morning,  and  we  have  not  found  them. 
Tliey  are  not  in  this  room ;  yet  they  must  be  somewhere.  Cer- 
tificates and  such  things  don't  fly  away.  They  are  of  no  use  to 
any  one.  People  don't  steal  certificates.  I  must  have  done  sorae- 
tliing  with  them." 

''  Did  you  take  them  home  with  you  ?" 

"Why  should  I  do  that?  I  have  no  safe  or  strong-room  at 
borne." 

"  Did  you  send  them  to  the  bank  for  greater  safety  ?  To  bo 
sure,  they  would  be  no  more  safe  there  than  here." 

"Go,  and  ask.  Sec  the  manager.  xVsk  him  if  he  holds  any 
certificates  of  mine." 

The  clerk  turned  to  obey. 

"  No."  Mr.  Dering  stopped  him.  "  What's  the.  good  ?  If  he 
held  the  things  there  would  have  been  dividends.  Yet  what  can 
I  do?"  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  lawyer  felt  the  emotion 
that  he  had  often  observed  in  clients  at  times  of  real  disaster.  He 
felt  as  if  there  was  nothing  certain — not  even  property ;  as  if  the 
law  itself — actually  the  law — was  of  no  use.  His  brain  reeled, 
the  ground  was  slipping  under  hi^  feet,  and  he  was  falling 
forward  through  the  table,  and  the  tloor,  and  the  foundation — 


118  THE    IVORY    GATE 

forward  and  down — down — down.  "What  can  I  do?"  ho  re- 
peated. "  Checkley,  go.  See  the  manager.  There  may  be 
something  to  find  out.     I  can't  think  properly.     Go !" 

When  the  clerk  left  liim  he  laid  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and 
tried  to  put  things  quite  clearly  before  himself.  "  Where  can 
the  certificates  be?"  he  asked  himself,  repeating  this  question 
twenty  times.  He  was  quite  conscious  that  if  he  had  been  con- 
sulted on  such  a  point  by  a  client  he  would  have  replied  with  the 
greatest  readiness,  suggesting  the  one  really  practical  thing  to  do. 
For  iiimself  he  could  advise  nothing.  "  Where  can  the  certifi- 
cates be?  Nobody  steals  corporation  stock  and  gas  companies' 
shares.  They  are  no  good  if  you  do  steal  them.  They  can't  be 
sold  without  tiie  authority  of  the  owner;  he  has  got  to  sign  trans- 
fer-papers; if  they  were  stolen  the  dividends  would  go  on  being 
paid  to  tlie  owner  just  the  same.  Besides — "  Somewliere  about 
this  point  he  bethought  him  of  the  bank-book.  If  tiie  stock  had 
been  sold  tlie  money  would  appear  to  his  credit.  lie  snatelied 
the  book,  and  looked  at  it.  No ;  there  was  no  entry  which  could 
possibly  represent  the  sale  of  stock.  lie  knew  what  every  entry 
meant,  and  when  the  amount  was  paid  in  ;  his  memory  was  per- 
fectly clear  upon  this  point. 

Chcckley's  suggestion  occurred  to  him.  Had  he  taken  the 
certificates  home  with  him  ?  lie  might  liave  done,  for  some 
reason  which  he  had  now  forgotten.  Yes;  that  was  the  one 
possible  explanation.  lie  must  have  done.  For  a  moment  lie 
breathed  again — only  for  a  moment,  because  he  immediately 
reflected  that  he  could  not  possibly  do  such  a  thing  as  take  those 
securities  to  a  house  where  he  never  transacted  any  business  at 
all.  Then  he  returned  to  his  former  bewilderment  and  terror. 
What  had  become  of  them  ?  Wiiy  had  he  taken  them  out  of 
the  safe?     Where  had  he  bestowed  them? 

And  why  were  there  no  dividends  paid  to  him  on  these  stocks? 
Why?  lie  turned  white  with  terror  when  he  realized  that  if  ho 
got  no  more  dividends  he  could  have  no  more  stocks. 

During  a  long  professional  career  of  fifty  years  Mr.  Bering  had 
never  made  a  mistake — at  least  he  thought  so.  If  lie  had  not 
always  invested  his  money  to  the  greatest  profit,  he  had  invested 
it  safely.  He  did  not  get  the  interest  that  some  City  men 
expect,  but  he  made  no  losses.  He  looked  upon  himself,  there- 
fore, as  a  man  uf  great  sagacity,  whereas  in  such  matters  lie  was 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  119 

only  a  man  of  great  pradencc.  Also,  during  this  long  period  he 
was  always  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  considerable  income.  There- 
fore, he  had  never  known  the  least  anxiety  about  money.  Yet  all 
his  life  he  bad  been  counselling  other  people  in  their  anxieties. 
It  was  exactly  as  if  a  specialist  in  some  mortal  disease  should  be 
himself  attacked  by  it.  Or  it  was  as  if  the  bo'sun,  whose  duty  it 
is  to  superintend  the  flogging,  should  be  himself  tied  np. 

Nothing  came  to  him ;  no  glimmer  of  light;  not  the  least  rec- 
ollection of  anything.  Then  he  thought,  desperately,  that  per- 
haps if  he  were  to  imagine  how  it  would  be  if  somebody  else,  not 
himself  at  all,  were  to  come  to  himself,  and  lay  the  story  before 
hira,  as  a  solicitor,  for  advice.  Or  how  it  would  be  if  he  himself 
were  to  go  to  himself,  as  a  solicitor,  and  put  the  case. 

When  Checkloy  came  back  he  found  his  master  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  his  eyes  wide  open  and  staring  at  him  as  he  opened 
the  door — yet  they  saw  nothing.  Checkley  stood  under  the  gaze 
of  those  eyes,  which  saw  him  not.  "Good  Lord !"  he  murmured. 
"  Is  the  time  come  ?     Is  he  going  to  die  ?'' 

Ilis  face  was  white.  lie  seemed  to  be  listening  anxiously;  his 
lips  were  parted.  "  lie's  in  a  fit  of  some  kind,"  thought  the  old 
clerk. 

lie  stood  watching.  lie  ought,  perhaps,  to  have  called  for 
assistance.  He  did  not  think  of  it.  He  stood  and  watched,  his 
face  as  pale  as  his  master's.  "Was  it  the  end  ?  If  so — we  all 
think  of  ourselves  first — what  about  his  berth  and  salary  ? 

Suddenly  his  master's  eyes  closed;  he  dropped  his  head;  he 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  ;  he  moved  his  head,  and  opened  his  eyes. 
lie  was  restored  to  himself.     The  fit,  whatever  it  was,  had  passed. 

"  Checkley,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  trying  to  put  the  thing  to 
myself  as  if  some  other  man — a  client — was  putting  his  case  to 
me.  I  began  very  well.  The  other  man  came — that  is,  I  myself 
called  upon  myself.  I  sat  and  heard  my  own  story.  I  forget, 
somehow,  what  the  story  was" — he  shook  his  head  impatiently. 
"Forget  —  forget  —  I  always  forget.  But  I  remember  that  it 
wasn't  the  story  I  wanted  him  to  tell.  It  was  another  story  alto- 
gether. He  didn't  tell  me  what  I  wanted  to  know — that  is,  what 
has  become  of  the  certificates?  I'm  no  nearer  than  I  was.  He 
made  out  that  I  was  actually  selling  the  certificates  myself." 

"You're  wandcrino:  ^  bit,"  said  Checkley,  anxiously  watching 
him ;  "  that's  all.     You'll   be  all  right   presently.      You've   bin 


120  THE    IVORY    GATE 

shook  up  a  bit,  witli  tlic  certificates  and  tlic  notes  and  all.     If  I 
were  you  Fd  have  a  glass  of  something  stilf." 

"  No,  no;  1  shall  come  round  presently.  Yes — that's  it.  I'm 
a  good  deal  upset  by  this  business.  Somehow,  I  don't  seem  able 
to  think  clearly  about  it.  Let  mo  see" — he  sighed  heavily — "I 
think  you  wont  somewhere — somewhere — for  me,  before — before 
the  other  man  came." 

"  For  Lord's  sake,  don't  talk  about  the  other  man.  There's  no 
such  person.  Yes,  I  did  go  for  you — I  went  to  ask  the  manager 
of  the  bank  whether  he  held  any  stock  for  you," 

"The  manager  of  the  bank?  True.  Well,  and  docs  he  hold 
anything?" 

"  Not  a  scrap.     Never  had  any." 

"Then  Checkloy '' — Mr.  Dering  dropped  his  hands  liclplcssly 
— "  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  the  clerk  replied,  with  equal  help- 
lessness, "  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  before  in  all  my  life. 
Thirty-eight  thousand  pounds!  It  can't  be.  Nobody  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing  before,  I'orliaps  they  arc  about  the  i)lacc  some- 
where.    Let's  have  another  search." 

"  No,  no.  It  is  useless.  Why — I  have  had  no  dividends.  The 
shares  were  all  transferred,  and  nothing  has  been  paid  for  them. 
The  shares  have  been  stolen.  Chcckley,  I  can't  think.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  can't  think.  I  want  some  one  to  advise  me. 
I  must  put  the  case  in  somebody's  hands." 

"  There's  your  young  partner — a  chance  for  him  to  show  that 
he's  worth  his  pay.  Why  don't  you  consult  him,  and  then  come 
back  to  the  old  plan  of  yon  and  me  ?  We're  knocked  a  bit  silly 
just  at  first,  but  the  case'll  come  to  us  in  the  long  run.  You 
would  have  a  partner — nothing  would  do  but  a  partner.  The 
boy's  in  his  own  room  now,  I  suppose,  with  a  crown  upon  his 
head  and  the  clerks  kneelin'  around — as  grand  as  you  please. 
Send  for  ^^??^." 

Mr.  Bering  nodded. 

The  ])artner,  when  he  arrived  a  few  minutes  later,  found  the 
chief  walking  about  the  room  in  uncontrollable  agitation.  On 
the  table  lay  piled  the  whole  contents  of  the  safe.  In  front  of  it 
stood  the  ancient  clerk,  trembling  and  shaking — head,  hands,  knees, 
and  shoulders — following  the  movements  of  his  master  with  eyes 
full  of  anxiety  and  terror.     This  strange  fit,  this  forgetfulness, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  121 

this   rambling  talk   about   another   man,  this   new   restlessness, 
frightened  him. 

"You  are  come  at  last."  Mr.  Bering  stopped,  and  threw  him- 
self into  his  chair.  "  Now,  my  partner,  hear  the  case,  and  resolve 
the  difficulty  for  us  if  yon  can.  Tell  him,  Checkley — or — stay  ; 
no,  I  will  tell  it  myself.  Either  I  have  lost  my  reason  and  iny 
memory,  or  I  have  been  robbed." 

George  stood  at  the  table  and  listened.  Something  of  the  ut- 
most gravity  had  happened.  Never  before  had  he  seen  his  chief 
in  the  least  degree  shaken  out  of  his  accustomed  frigidity  of  calra. 
Now  he  was  excited  ;  his  eyes  were  restless;  he  talked  fast;  he 
talked  badly,  lie  made  half  a  dozen  attempts  to  begin  ;  he  mar- 
shalled his  facts  in  a  slovenly  and  disorderly  manner,  quite  un- 
like his  usual  clear  arrangement ;  for  fifty  years  he  had  been  mar- 
shalling facts  and  drawing  up  cases,  and  at  his  own  he  broke 
down. 

"I  think  I  understand  the  whole,"  said  George,  when  his  chief 
paused  and  Checkley  ceased  to  correct  and  to  add.  "  You  had 
certificates  representing  investments  to  the  amount  of  thirty-eight 
thousand  pounds;  these  arc  gone,  unaccountably  gone;  no  divi- 
dends have  been  paid  for  some  months,  and  your  broker  speaks 
of  large  transfers." 

"That's  not  all,"  said  Checkley.     "Tell  him  about  the  notes." 

"Yes.  The  fact  may  have  some  bearing  upon  ihe  case.  While 
we  were  looking  for  the  certificates,  and  in  order,  I  suppose,  to 
complicate  things  and  to  bewilder  me  the  more,  we  found  in  the 
safe  the  very  notes — give  me  the  bundle,  Checkley — there  they 
are — that  were  paid  over  the  bank  counter  to  the  man  who  forged 
my  name  eight  years  ago." 

"  What?     The  case  in  which  Athelstan  Arundel  was  accused?" 

"The  same.  There  they  arc — you  hold  them  in  your  hand — 
the  very  notes  !  Strange  I  on  the  very  day  when  I  am  threat- 
ened with  another  and  a  worse  robbery!  Yes — yes;  the  very 
notes ! — the  very  notes  !  This  is  wonderful.  Who  put  them 
there?" 

"  How  can  I  know  ?" 

"  Well —  But  in  any  case  one  thing  is  certain — Athelstan's 
name  is  cleared  at  last.     You  will  tell  liis  mother  that." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Checkley.     "  Why  shouldn't  he  put  'em  in 
himself  ?     I  saw  him  edging  up  towards  the  safe — " 
6 


122  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  Saw  him  edging — stuff  and  nonsense!  Tlis  name  is  cleared. 
This  will  be  joyful  news  to  his  mother  and  sisters." 

"  Austin,  get  me  back  my  certificates,"  said  Mr.  Bering,  "  Nev- 
er mind  those  notes  now.  Never  mind  the  joyful  news.  Never 
mind  Athelstan's  name — that  can  wait.  The  thought  of  him  and 
the  old  forgery  only  bewilders  my  brain  at  this  juncture.  I  can- 
not act.  I  cannot  think.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  blinded  and  stupe- 
fied. Act  for  me — think  for  mc — work  for  me.  Bo  my  solic- 
itor, George,  as  well  as  my  partner." 

"  I  will  do  my  best.  It  is  diliicult  at  first  to  understand — for 
what  has  happened  ?  You  cannot  find — you  have  mislaid — cer- 
tain papers;  certain  dividends  which  were  due  do  not  appear  to 
have  been  paid  ;  and  your  brokers,  lilllis  S:  Northcotc,  have  used 
a  phrase  in  a  letter  which  you  do  not  understand.  Would  it  not 
be  well  to  get  them  here;  or  shall  I  go  into  the  City  and  ask  them 
exactly  what  they  meant  and  what  has  been  done  ?" 

"  If  I  could  remember  any  transactions  with  them  during  the 
last  six  months.  But  I  cannot,  except  a  small  purchase  of  corpo- 
ration stock  last  month — a  few  hundreds  !  And  here  arc  the  pa- 
pers belonging  to  that." 

"  Which  of  the  partners  do  you  deal  with  ?" 

"  The  old  man,  Ellis — he's  always  acted  for  me.  He  has  been 
my  friend  for  close  on  fifty  years." 

"  Well,  I  will  send  for  him,  and  tell  him  to  come  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  to  bring  along  with  him  all  the  letters  and  papers 
he  has." 

"  Good,  good,"  said  Mr.  Bering,  more  cheerfully.  "  That  is 
practical.  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  at  the  very  outset. 
Now  we  shall  get  along.  The  first  thing  is  to  arrive  at  the  facts 
— then  we  can  act.  If  it  was  another  man's  case  I  should  have 
known  what  to  do.  But  when  it  is  your  own — and  to  lose  the 
certificates,  and  when  a  sum  of  nearly  forty  thousand  pounds  is  at 
stake — it  looks  like  losing  the  money  itself — and  the  feeling  of 
uncertainty — " 

"  All  taken  together,  becomes  rather  overwhelming.  Of  course 
I  should  like  to  see  the  letter-book,  and  we  must  run  through 
the  letters  to  see  if  they  throw  any  light  upon  the  business.  Per- 
haps the  papers  themselves  may  be  found  among  them." 

The  presence  of  this  young  man,  cheerful,  decided,  taking  prac- 
tical measures  at  once — cheered  up  the  lawyer,  and  steadied  his 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  123 

shattered  nerves.  But  Checklcy,  the  clerk,  looked  on  gloomily, 
lie  replaced  the  papers  in  the  safe,  and  stood  beside  it,  as  if  to 
guard  it ;  he  followed  the  movements  of  the  new  partner  with 
watchful,  suspicious  eyes ;  and  he  muttered  sullenly  between  his 
teeth. 

First  George  sent  a  telegram  to  the  City  for  the  broker.  Then, 
while  the  old  clerk  still  stood  beside  the  safe,  and  Mr.  Bering  con- 
tinued to  show  signs  of  agitation  uncontrollable,  sometimes  walk- 
ing about  the  room  and  sometimes  sitting  at  his  table,  sometimes 
looking  into  the  empty  shelves  of  the  safe,  he  began  to  look 
through  the  copied  letters — those,  that  is,  which  had  gone  out  of 
Mr.  Bering's  office.  He  searched  for  six  months,  working  back- 
wards. 

"  Nothing  for  six  months,"  he  said.  "  Cbcckley,  give  me  the 
letters."  He  went  through  these.  They  were  the  letters  received 
at  the  office,  all  filed,  endorsed,  and  dated.  There  was  not  one 
during  the  letters  of  six  months  which  he  examined  which  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  sales  of  stocks  and  shares. 

"  If,"  he  said,  "  you  had  written  to  EHis  S:  Xorthcote  a  copy 
of  your  letter  would  be  here  in  this  book.  If  they  had  written 
to  you,  their  letters  would  be  among  these  bundles.  Very  well. 
Since  no  such  letters  are  here,  it  is  clear  that  no  such  letters  were 
written.     Therefore,  no  sales." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Bering,  "  where  arc  my  certificates?  "Where 
are  my  dividends?" 

"Tliat  we  shall  see.  At  present  we  are  only  getting  at  the 
facts." 

Then  Mr.  Ellis,  senior  partner  of  Ellis  it  Northcote,  arrived, 
bearing  a  small  packet  of  papers.  Everybody  knew  Mr.  Ellis,  of 
Ellis  6:  Northcote,  one  of  the  most  respectable  stock-brokers  in 
London — citizen  and  Loriner.  He  belongs  eminently  to  the  class 
called  worthy — an  old  gentleman,  carefully  dressed,  of  smooth 
and  polished  appearance,  pleasing  manners,  and  great  integrity.  ^^^^^ 
Nobody  could  look  more  truly  integer  valic  than  Mr.  Ellis.  Nor 
does  his  private  practice  belie  his  reputation  and  his  appearance. 
His  chin  and  lips  looked  as  if  they  could  not  possibly  endure  the 
burden  of  beard  or  moustache ;  his  sentiments,  one  observed  at  a 
glance,  would  certainly  be  such  as  one  expects  from  a  citizen  of 
his  respectability. 

"  Here  I  am,  dear  sir,"  he  said  cheerfully — "  here  I  am,  iu  im- 


124  THE    IVORY    GATE 

mediate  obedience  to  your  summons.  I  ho[)e  that  there  is  noth- 
ing wrong,  though  your  request  that  I  should  bring  with  me  cer- 
tain papers  certainly  made  me  a  little  apprehensive." 

"  There  is,  I  fear,  a  good  deal  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Dering.  "  Sit 
down,  my  old  friend.  Give  Mr.  Ellis  a  chair,  Checkley.  Austin, 
you  will  tell  him  what  he  wants  to  know." 

"You  wrote  to  Mr.  Dering  yesterday,  recommending  a  certain 
investment?" 

"I  certainly  did.  A  very  favorable  opportunity  it  is,  and  a 
capital  thing  it  will  prove." 

"You  mentioned  in  your  letter  certain  transfers  and  sales 
which,  according  to  your  letter,  he  had  recently  effected  ?" 

"Certainly."' 

"  What  sales  were  they  ?" 

Mr.  Ellis  looked  at  his  papers.  "  February  last,  sale  of  various 
stock,  all  duly  enumerated  here,  to  the  value  of  £6500.  March 
last,  sale  of  various  stock,  also  all  duly  enumerated,  to  the  value 
of  £12,000  odd.  April  last,  sale  of  stock  to  the  value  of  £20,000 
— more  or  less — realizing — " 

"  You  note  the  dates  and  amounts,  Austin  ?"  said  Mr.  Dering. 

"Certainly.  We  will,  however,  get  the  dates  and  the  amounts 
more  exactly  in  a  moment.  Now,  Mr.  Ellis,  of  course  you  ro- 
ceived  instructions  with  the  papers  themselves.  Were  they  in 
writing  or  by  word  of  mouth  ?" 

"In  writing.     By  letters  written  by  Mr.  Dering  himself." 

"llavc  you  got  those  letters  with  you?" 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  MYSTERIOUS   I>lSCOyERY— (Concluded) 

"  Everything  is  here,  and  in  proper  order."  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  papers.  "  Here,  for  instance,  is  the  first  letter,  dated 
February  14th,  relating  to  these  transactions.  You  will,  no  doubt, 
remember  it,  Mr.  Dering."    He  took  up  a  letter,  and  read  it  aloud: 

'"My  dear  Ellis, — I  enclose  a  bundle  of  certificates  and  sliares.  They 
amount  to  somewhere  about  £6500  at  current  price.     Will  you  have  these 


THE    IVORY    GATE  125 

transferred  to  the  name  of  Edmund  Gray,  gentleman,  of  22  South  Square, 
Gray's  Inn?  Mr.  P^dinund  Gray  is  a  client,  and  I  will  have  the  amount  paid 
to  my  account  by  him.  Send  mc,  therefore,  the  transfer  papers  and  the  ac- 
count showing  the  amount  due  to  me  by  him,  together  with  your  commission. 

"'Very  sincerely  yours, 

" '  Edward  Dering.' 

"  That  is  the  letter.  The  proceeding  is  not  usual,  yet  not  ir- 
regular. If,  for  instance,  we  had  been  instructed  to  buy  stock 
for  Mr.  Dering —     But,  of  course,  you  know.'' 

"Pardon  nie,"  said  George.  "I  am  not  so  much  accustomed 
to  buy  stock  as  my  partner.     Will  you  go  on  ?" 

"We  should  have  done  so,  and  sent  our  client  the  bill  for  the 
amount,  with  our  commission.  If  we  had  been  instructed  to  sell 
we  should  have  paid  in  to  Mr.  Bering's  bank  the  amount  realized, 
less  our  commission.  A  transfer  is  another  kind  of  work.  Mr. 
Dering  transferred  this  stock  to  Edmund  Graj',  his  client.  It 
was,  therefore,  for  him  to  settle  with  his  client  the  charges  for 
the  transfer  and  the  value  of  the  stock.  We,  therefore,  sent  a 
bill  for  these  charges.  It  was  sent  by  Laud,  and  a  check  was 
received  by  return  of  the  messenger." 

George  received  the  letter  from  him,  examined  it,  and  laid  it 
before  his  partner. 

Mr.  Dering  read  the  letter,  held  it  to  the  light,  examined  it 
very  carefully,  and  then  tossed  it  to  Checkley. 

"  If  anybody  knows  my  handwriting,"  he  said,  "it  ought  to  be 
you.     Whose  writing  is  that?" 

"  It  looks  like  yours.  But  there  is  a  trembling  in  the  letters. 
It  is  not  so  firm  as  the  most  of  your  work.  I  should  call  it  yours, 
but  I  see  by  your  face  that  it  is  not." 

"  No  ;  it  is  not  my  writing.  I  did  not  write  that  letter.  This 
is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  the  contents  of  that  letter.  Look  at 
the  signature,  Checkley.  Two  dots  are  wanting  after  the  word 
'Dering,'  and  the  flourish  after  the  last  '  n'  is  curtailed  of  half  its 
usual  dimensions.  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  alter  my  signature 
by  a  single  curve  T' 

"Never,"  Checkley  replied.  "Two  dots  wanting  and  half  a 
flourish.    Go  on,  sir ;  I've  just  thought  of  something — but  go  on." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  this  letter  is  a  forgery  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Ellis.    "  Why — then —    Oh  !  it  is  impossible.    It  must,  then, 


126  THE    IVORY    GATE 

be  the  beginning  of  a  whole  scries  of  forgeries.  It's  quite  im- 
possible to  credit  it.  The  letter  came  from  this  office ;  the  post- 
mark shows  it  was  posted  in  this  district;  the  answer  was  sent 
here.  The  transfers — consider — the  transfers  were  posted  to  this 
office ;  they  came  back,  duly  signed  and  witnessed,  from  this 
office.  I  forwarded  the  certificate  made  out  in  the  name  of 
Edmund  Gray  to  this  office,  and  I  got  an  acknowledgment  from 
this  office.  I  sent  the  account  of  the  transaction,  with  my  com- 
mission charges,  to  this  office,  and  got  a  check  for  the  latter,  from 
this  office.  How  can  such  a  complicated  business  as  this — only 
the  first  of  these  transactions — be  a  forgery  ?  Why,  you  want  a 
dozen  confederates,  at  least,  for  such  a  job  as  this." 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  yet,"  said  George,  inexperienced  in 
the  transfer  of  stocks  and  shares. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  sell  stock  without  the  owner's  authority ;  he 
raust  sign  a  transfer.  But  if  I  receive  a  commission  from  a  law- 
yer to  transfer  liis  stock  to  a  client,  it  is  not  my  business  to  ask 
whether  he  receives  the  money  or  not." 

"  Yes,  yes.  And  is  there  nothing  to  show  for  the  sale  of  this 
six  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  paper  ?"  George  asked  Mr.  Dcring. 

•'  Nothing  at  all.     The  letters  and  everything  are  a  forgery." 

"And  you,  Mr.  Ellis,  received  a  check  for  your  commission?" 

"Certainly." 

"  Get  mc  the  old  checks  and  the  check-book,"  said  Mr.  Dering. 
The  check  was  drawn,  as  the  letter  was  written,  in  Mr.  Bering's 
handwriting,  but  with  the  slight  difference  he  had  pointed  out  in 
the  signature. 

*'  You  are  quite  sure,"  asked  George,  "  that  you  did  not  sign 
that  check  ?" 

"  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  I  did  not." 

"Then  as  for  this  Edmund  Gray,  of  22  South  Square,  Gray's 
Inn — what  do  you  know  about  him  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all — absolutely  nothing." 

"  I  know  something,"  said  Checkley.     "  But  go  on — go  on." 

"  He  may  be  a  non-existent  person,  for  what  you  know." 

"Certainly.     I  know  nothing  about  any  Edmund  Gray." 

"Wait  a  bit,"  murmured  Checkley. 

"Well,  but,"  Mr.  Ellis  went  on,  "this  was  only  a  beginning. 
In  March  you  wrote  to  me  again  ;  that  is  to  say,  I  received  a 
letter  purporting  to  be  from  you.     In  this  letter — here  it  is — you 


THE    IVORY    GATE  127 

instructed  mc  to  transfer  certain  stock — the  papers  of  which 
you  enclosed — amounting  to  about  twelve  thousand  pounds — to 
Edmund  Gray  aforesaid.  In  the  same  way  as  before  the  transfer 
papers  were  sent  to  you  for  signature ;  in  the  same  way  as  before 
they  were  signed  and  returned ;  and  in  the  same  way  as  before 
the  commission  was  charged  to  you  and  paid  by  you.  It  was 
exactly  the  same  transaction  as  before — only  for  double  the  sura 
involved  in  the  February  business." 

Mr.  Dering  took  the  second  letter,  and  looked  at  it  with  a  kind 
of  patient  resignation.  "  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  he  said — 
"  nothing  at  all." 

"There  was  a  third  and  last  transaction,"  said  the  broker — 
"this  time  in  April.  Here  is  the  letter  written  by  you,  with 
instructions  exactly  the  same  as  in  the  previous  cases,  but  dealing 
with  stock  to  the  amount  of  nineteen  thousand  pounds,  which  we 
duly  carried  out,  and  for  which  we  received  your  check — for 
commission." 

"Every  one  of  these  letters — every  signature  of  mine  to  trans- 
fer-papers and  to  checks — was  a  forgery,"  said  Mr.  Dering  slowly. 
"I  have  no  client  named  Edmund  Gray;  I  know  no  one  of  the 
name ;  I  never  received  any  money  from  the  transfers ;  these  in- 
vestments are  stolen." 

"  Let  me  look  at  the  letters  again,"  said  George.  lie  examined 
them  carefully,  comparing  them  with  each  other.  "They  are  so 
wonderfully  forged  that  they  would  deceive  the  most  careful.  I 
should  not  hesitate,  myself,  to  swear  to  the  handwriting." 

It  has  already  been  explained  that  Mr.  Bering's  handwriting 
was  of  a  kind  that  is  not  uncommon  with  those  who  write  a 
great  deal.  The  unimportant  words  were  conveyed  by  a  curve, 
with  or  without  a  tail,  while  the  really  important  words  were 
clearly  written.  The  signature,  liowevcr,  was  large,  distinct,  and 
Horid — the  signature  of  the  house,  which  had  been  flourishing 
for  a  hundred  years  and  more,  a  signature  which  had  never  varied. 

"Look  at  it,"  said  George  again.  "Who  would  not  swear  to 
this  writing?" 

"I  would  for  one,"  said  Mr.  Ellis,  "and  I  have  known  it  for 
forty  years  and  more.  If  that  is  not  your  own  writing,  Dering, 
it  is  the  very  finest  imitation  ever  made." 

"  I  don't  think  my  memory  can  be  quite  gone.  Checkley,  have 
we  ever  had  a  client  named  Edmund  Gray?" 


128  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"No,  never.  But  you've  forgotten  one  thing.  That  forgery 
eight  years  ago — the  chock  of  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
— was  payable  to  the  order  of  Edmund  Gray." 

"Ah  !     So  it  was.     This  seems  important." 

"Most  important,"  said  George.  "The  forger  could  not  pos- 
sibly by  accident  choose  the  satne  name.  This  cannot  be  coinci- 
dence.    Have  you  the  forged  check  ?" 

"I  have  always  kept  it,"  Mr.  Dering  replied,  "on  the  chance 
of  using  it  to  prove  the  crime  and  convict  the  criminal.  You  will 
find  it,  Checkloy,  in  the  right-hand  drawer  of  the  safe.  Tiiank 
you.  Here  it  is — 'Pay  to  the  order  of  Edmund  Gray';  and 
here  is  his  endorsement.    So  we  have  his  handwriting,  at  any  rate." 

George  took  it.  "Strange,"  he  said.  "I  should,  without 
any  hesitation,  swear  to  your  handwriting  liere  as  well.  And 
look,  the  signature  to  the  check  is  exactly  the  same  as  that  of 
these  letters — the  two  dots  missing  after  the  name,  and  the  nour- 
ish after  the  last  '  n  '  curtailed." 

It  was  so.  The  handwriting  of  the  check  and  of  the  letters 
was  the  same;  the  signatures  were  slightly,  but  systematically, 
altered  in  exactly  the  same  way  in  both  letters  and  check. 

"This  again,"  said  George,  "can  hardly  be  coincidence.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  man  who  wrote  that  check  also  wrote  those 
letters." 

The  endorsement  was  in  a  hand  which  might  also  be  taken  for 
Mr.  Dering's  own.     Nothing  to  be  got  out  of  the  endorsement. 

"  But  about  the  transfer-papers  ?"  said  George.  "  They  would 
Lave  to  be  witnessed  as  well  as  signed  ?" 

"  They  were  witnessed,"  said  the  broker,  "  by  a  clerk  named 
Lorry." 

"  Yes,  we  have  such  a  man  in  our  office.  Chcckley,  send  for 
Lorry." 

Lorry  was  a  clerk  employed  in  Mr.  Dering's  outer  office.  Being 
interrogated,  he  said  that  he  had  no  recollection  of  witnessing  a 
signature  for  a  transfer-paper,  lie  had  witnessed  many  signa- 
tures, but  was  not  informed  what  the  papers  were.  Asked  if  he 
remembered  especially  witnessing  any  signature  in  Februar}', 
March,  or  April,  he  replied  that  he  could  not  remember  any,  but 
that  he  had  witnessed  a  great  many  signatures;  that  sometimes 
Mr.  Dering  wanted  him  to  witness  his  own  signature,  sometimes 
those  of   clients.      If   he  were   shown    his  si<rnaturc  he   mifrht 


THE    IVORY    GATE  129 

remember.      Lorry,  therefore,  was  allowed  to  depart  to  his  own 
place. 

"There  can  be  no  longer  any  doubt,"  said  George,  "that  an 
attempt  has  been  made  at  a  robbery  on  a  very  large  scale." 

"An  attempt  only?"  Mr.  Dering  asked.  "Where  are  my 
certificates?" 

"  I  say  attempt,  because  you  can't  really  steal  stock.  Dividends 
arc  only  paid  to  those  who  lawfully  possess  it.  This  Edmund 
Gray  we  can  find  if  he  exists.  I  take  it,  however,  that  he  docs 
not.  It  is  probably  a  name  assumed  by  the  forger.  And  I  sup- 
pose that  he  has  made  haste  to  sell  his  stock.  Whether  or  no, 
you  will  certainly  recover  your  property.  People  may  as  well 
steal  a  field  as  steal  stocks  and  shares." 

"  We  can  easily  find  out  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Ellis,  "  what  has 
become  of  your  papc-r." 

"  If  the  thieves  have  kept  it,"  George  went  on,  "all  they  could 
make  would  be  the  dividends  for  four  months.  That,  however,  is 
only  because  the  bank-book  was  not  examined  for  so  long.  They 
could  not  reckon  upon  such  an  unusual  stroke  of  luck.  It  seems 
almost  certain  that  they  must  get  rid  of  the  stock  as  quickly  as 
tliey  could.  Suppose  that  they  have  realized  the  whole  amount. 
It  is  an  immense  sum  of  money.  It  would  have  to  be  paid  by 
check  into  a  bank;  the  holder  could  only  draw  out  the  money 
gradually.  lie  might,  to  be  sure,  go  to  America,  and  have  the 
whole  amount  transferred  ;  but  that  would  not  help  him  much 
unless  lie  could  draw  it  out  in  small  sums  payable  to  confederates. 
In  fact,  the  robbery  seems  to  me  hedged  about  with  difficulties 
almost  impossible." 

"It  is  the  most  extraordinary  attempt  at  robbery  that  ever 
was,"  said  Mr.  Ellis.  "Thirty-eight  thousand  pounds  in  shares! 
Well,  I  will  find  out  for  you  if  they  have  been  sold,  and  to  whom. 
Meantime,  my  old  friend,  don't  you  be  down-hearted  about  it. 
As  Mr.  Austin  says,  you  will  certainly  get  your  property  back 
af^ain.  What?  We  live  in  a  civilized  country.  We  cannot  have 
large  sums  like  forty  thousand  pounds  stolen  bodily.  Property 
isn't  kept  any  longer  in  bags  of  gold.  Bank-notes,  banks,  invest- 
ments, all  tend  to  make  great  robberies  impossible.  Courage; 
you  will  get  back  your  property." 

Mr.  Dering  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"There  is   another  chance,"  George  suggested.      "One   has 
ft* 


130  THE    IVORY    GATE 

beard  of  robberies  effected  with  the  view  of  blackmail  afterwards. 
Suppose  we  were  to  get  a  letter  offering  the  whole  to  be  returned 
for  a  certain  sum." 

"No,  no.  It  is  now  four  months  since  the  thing  was  done. 
They  have  sold  out  the  stock,  and  disappeared — gone  to  America, 
as  you  suggested.  Why,  the  things  may  have  been  sold  a  dozen 
times  over  in  the  interval.  That  is  the  danger.  Suppose  they 
have  been  sold  a  dozen  times  over.  Consider.  Here  is  a  share  in 
the  Great  "Western.  I  transfer  it  from  A  to  B.  Very  good.  The 
sliare  now  belongs  to  B,  and  stands  in  his  name,  whether  honestly 
come  by  or  not.  B  sends  it  to  another  broker,  who  sells  it  to  C. 
lie,  again,  to  D.  Every  transaction  is  right  and  in  form  except 
the  first.  You  can  trace  the  share  from  owner  to  owner.  B  has 
vanished.  A  says  to  C,  '  You  bought  that  share  of  a  thief.' 
C  says,  '  Very  sorry.  How  was  I  tu  know  ?  D  has  got  it  now.' 
D  says  that  it  is  his,  and  he  will  stick  to  it.  We  go  to  law  about  the 
share.  What  is  going  to  happen  ?  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know. 
Well — but  this  is  only  conjecture.  Let  me  first  find  out  what  has 
become  of  the  shares.  Of  course,  there  is  a  record;  I  have  only 
to  refer.     I  will  let  you  know  by  to-morrow  morning  if  I  can." 

When  Mr.  Ellis  was  gone,  George  began  to  sum  up,  for  the 
clearing  of  his  own  mind,  the  ascertained  facts  of  the  case,  so  far 
as  they  had  got. 

'*  First,"  he  said,  "the  letters  to  Ellis  6:  Northcote  were  writ- 
ten on  our  headed  paper.  Clearly,  therefore,  the  writer  must 
have  had  access  to  the  office.  Next,  he  knew  and  could  copy 
your  handwriting.  Third,  he  was  able  to  intercept  the  delivery 
of  letters,  and  to  prevent  your  getting  any  he  wished  to  stop,  be- 
cause the  correspondence  was  conducted  openly  through  the  post. 
That  seems  to  be  a  very  important  point.  Fourth,  the  letters 
were  all,  apparently,  in  your  handwriting,  very  skilfully  imitated, 
instead  of  being  dictated  and  then  signed.  Fifth,  he  must  at  least 
have  known  of  the  last  forgery,  or  how  did  he  arrive  at  the  name 
of  Edmund  Gray?  And  was  it  out  of  devilry  and  mockery  be- 
cause that  forgery  escaped  detection,  that  he  used  the  name 
again  ?  Sixth,  he  must  have  had  access  to  the  safe  where  the 
check-book  (as  well  as  the  certificates)  was  kept.  Seventh,  he 
must  have  known  the  office  pretty  well,  or  how  did  he  find  out 
the  name  of  your  brokers?  Eighth,  the  handwriting  appeared  to 
be  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  the  former  forgery." 


1  '^l 
THE    IVORY    GATE  ^^'^ 


"  It  is  the  same  as  last  time,"  said  Cheekier.  That  forgery 
was  done  in  the  office  if  ever  a  thing  ^vas  done  here.  Same  Nvith 
tins-same  with  this.  Well,  time  will  show.  Same  with  this. 
Ue  crlared  from  under  his  great  eyebrows  at  the  young  partner, 
as  if  he  suspected  that  the  young  gentleman  could  throw  some 
liaht  upon  that  mystery  if  he  wished. 

"-  \Ye  have  given  time  long  enough  to  discover  the  author  of 
the  last  business,"  said  Mr.  Dcring,  "but  he  has  not  chosen  to 
do  so  as  yet.  The  loss  of  property,"  he  groaned  -  the  loss  of 
close  on  forty  thousand  pounds."  ,    ,     ,     ^ 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is  lost,"  said  George.  "  It  can  t  be  lost. 
It  is  a  bit  of  a  railway-part  of  a  reservoir-a  corner  of  the  gas- 
works; you  can't  lose  these  things-unless,  indeed,  the  difficulty 
sn"-frested  bv  Mr.  Ellis  occurs."  . 

Here  M.-:  Doring  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  began  again  to 
walk  about  the  room  in  restless  agitation.     He  was  no  longer  the 
grave  and  serious   lawyer;  he  became   one   of   his  own  clients, 
lamenting,  as  they  had  so  often  lamented  in  that  room,  the  great- 
ness of  his  misfortune.     He  uttered  the  usual  commonplaces  of 
men  in  distress-there  is  a  dreadful  sameness  about  the  lamenta- 
tion of  ill  luck.     We  all  know  them-the  hardness  of  the  thing ; 
the  injustice  of  it;  the  impossibility  of  warding  it  off;  Ins  own 
sao-acity  in  taking  every  precaution;  the  dreadfulness  of  being 
.imdcd  out  of  a  whole  generation  for  exceptional  misfortune.    Mr 
Dorin-v  hi.nself-the  grave,  calm,  reserved  old  lawyer,  who  seemed 
made  of  granite-broke  down  under  the  blow,  and  became  an  or- 
dinary human  creature.     In  the  lower  walks  they  weep.     Check- 
Icy  would  have  wept.      Mr.  Dering  became  eloquent,  wrathful, 
sarcastic.     No  retired  general  who  has  mined  himself  by  gam- 
blincr  in  stocks  could  so  bemoan  his  luck.    George  listened,  saying 
notldn-.     It  was  an  experience.     No  man  so  strong  but  has  his 
weak  p''oint.     No  man   is  completely  armored  against  the  arrows 

of  fate.  u  IT      •  « 

Prcsentlv  he  grew  a  little  more  calm,  and  sat  down  torgne 

me,  Georg;,"  he  said  gently-"  forgive  this  outbreak.  There  is 
more  in  the  business  than  you  know  of.  I  feel  as  ,f  I  know 
something  about  it,  but  cant  bring  it  out.  I  am  gro-ing  so 
fo,-ctful-I  forget  whole  days-I  am  filled  with  the  eehng  that 
I  ouc^ht  to  know  about  it.  As  for  the  loss,  what  I  have  said  is 
true."  You  do  not  yet  feel  as  I  do  about  property-you  are  too 


132  THE    IVORY    GATE 

young.  You  Lave  not  got  any  property  yet.  Wait  a  few  years — 
then  you  will  be  able  to  agree  with  me  that  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  so  hard  as  to  lose  your  property — the  property  that  you 
have  made — by  your  own  exertions — for  yourself," 

"Now  you  talk  like  yourself,"  said  Checkley.  "  That's  sense. 
Nothing  so  dreadful  as  to  lose  property.  It's  enough  to  kill 
people.     It  has  killed  many  people." 

"  Property  means  everything.  You  understand  that  the  more 
the  older  you  get." 

"  You  do,"  said  Checkley.  "  There's  notliing  in  the  world 
worth  considering  except  property." 

"  It  means,  remember,  all  the  virtues — prudence,  courage,  quick 
sight,  self-restraint,  tenacity,  all  the  iighting  qualities.  We  do 
well  to  honor  rich  men.  I  hoped  to  receive  honor  myself  as  a 
rich  man.  When  you  have  put  together  a  few  thousands — by  the 
exercise  of  these  finer  qualities,  so  that  tiie  thought  of  this  gives 
you  dignity — " 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Checkley,  straightening  himself. 

'*  To  feel  that  they  are  gone — gone — gone —  It  is  cruel. 
George,  you  don't  understand  it.  You  are  young  ;  as  yet  you 
have  no  money.     Checkley,  you  liave  saved — " 

"  A  trifle,  a  trifle."  But  he  covered  his  mouth  with  his  hand 
to  conceal  the  smile  of  satisfaction. 

"  You  are  reputed  rich." 

"  No — no — no.  Not  rich.  My  chances  have  been  few.  I 
have  not  let  thera  go.     But  rich  ?     No,  no." 

"  How  would  you  regard  the  loss  —  the  robbery  of  your  prop- 
erty, Checkley  ?" 

The  old  clerk  shook  his  head.  He  had  no  words  adequate  to 
the  question, 

"Apart  from  the  loss,"  Mr.  Dering  went  on,  "there  is  the 
sense  of  insecurity.  I  felt  it  once  before,  when  the  other  forgery 
took  place.  There  seems  no  safety  anywhere.  Papers  that  I 
keep  in  my  private  safe,  to  which  no  one  has  a  key  but  myself, 
which  I  never  leave  open  if  I  leave  the  room  even  to  go  into  an- 
other room,  are  taken.  Check-books  which  I  keep  there  are 
taken  out,  and  checks  stolen.  Finally,  things  are  put  in — the 
bundle  of  notes,  for  instance.  I  say  that  I  feel  a  sense  of  help- 
lessness, as  if  everything  might  be  taken  from  me,  and  I  should 
be  powerless  to  resist." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  133 

"  Let  US  first  get  back  the  certificates,"  said  George,  "  and  we 
will  find  out  and  defeat  this  gang,  if  it  is  a  gang,  of  confederates. 
Yes  —  it  is  as  you  say  —  the  ground  itself  seems  sinking  beneath 
one's  feet,  when  one's  own  investments  are  sold  for  nothing  by 
a  letter  so  like  your  own  writing  that  it  would  deceive  anybody." 

"Done  in  the  office,"  Checklcy  murmured  —  "in  the  office. 
Same  as  iRst  time.  Well — we  shall  find  him — we  shall  find  him." 
He  began  to  bundle  the  papers  back  into  the  safe,  murmuring, 
"  Same  as  last  time — done  in  the  oflice — we  shall  find  him — we 
shall  find  him.  Wc  found  him  before,  and  we'll  find  him 
now." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE     FIRST    FIND 

"Yes,"  said  George,  thouglitfully,  "  a  day  or  two  ought  to  un- 
ravel this  matter.  Wc  must  first,  liowever,  before  going  to  the 
police,  find  out  as  much  as  we  can  ourselves.  Let  me  take  up 
the  case  by  myself  for  a  bit." 

"  No,  no,"  Checklcy  grumbled.  "  Police  first.  Catch  the  man 
first." 

"  Put  aside  everything,"  said  the  chief — "  everything,  George. 
Forget  everything  until  you  have  found  out  the  mystery  of  the 
conspiracy." 

"  It  looks  to  me  like  a  long  firm,"  George  went  on —  "  a  long 
firm  witli  a  sham  name  and  a  respectable  address.  Of  course 
there  is  no  such  person,  really,  as  Edmund  Gray." 

"  It  is  not  only  the  loss — perhaps,  let  us  hope  " — Mr.  Dorino- 
sighed — "  only  a  temporary  loss;  if  a  real  loss,  then  a  most  ter- 
rible blow — not  only  that,  but  it  is  the  sense  of  insecurity.  No 
one  ever  found  out  about  that  check — and  here  are  the  notes  in 
the  safe  all  the  time." 

"  He  put  'cm  in,"  said  Checklcy. 

"This  is  the  second  time  —  and  the  same  name  still  —  Ed- 
mund Gray.  It  fills  nie  with  uneasiness.  I  am  terrified, 
George.  I  know  not  what  may  be  the  next  blow — what  may 
be    taken    from    mc — my    mortgages,    my    bouses,    my    land, 


134  THE    IVORY    GATE 

everything.  Go.  I  can  do  the  work  of  the  office — all  the  work 
—  by  myself.  But  this  work  I  cannot  do.  I  ara  not  able  to 
think  about  it.  These  thoughts  overpower  me  and  cloud  my 
reason." 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  I  will  do  what  I  can.  I  don't  suppose 
there  is  any  Edmund  Gray  at  all,  but  one  must  try  to  find  out. 
There  can  be  no  harm  in  paying  a  visit  to  Gray's  Inli.  If  the 
thing  had  been  done  yesterday  it  would  be  necessary  to  strike  at 
once,  with  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  the  said  Edmund  Gray.  As 
it  is  four  months  since  the  last  robbery,  there  can  be  small  harm 
in  the  delay  of  a  day  or  two.     I  will  go  and  inquire  a  little." 

Nothing  easier  than  to  inquire.  There  was  the  man's  address; 
everybody  knows  Gray's  Inn  ;  everybody  knows  South  Square. 
The  place  is  only  ten  minutes'  walk  from  Lincoln's  Inn.  George 
took  his  hat,  walked  over,  and  proceeded  straight  to  No.  22,  ex- 
pecting to  tiiid  no  such  name  on  the  door-posts.  On  the  con- 
trary, there  it  was,  "  2d  Floor,  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,"  among  the 
other  occupants  of  the  staircase,  lie  mounted  the  stairs.  On 
the  second-floor  right  was  the  name  over  the  door,  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray.  But  the  outer  door  was  closed.  That  is  a  sign  that  the 
tenant  of  the  chambers  is  either  not  at  home  or  not  visible.  On 
the  first  floor  were  the  offices  of  a  firm  of  solicitors.  lie  sent 
in  his  card.  The  name  of  Dering  &  Son  commands  the  respect- 
ful attention  of  every  solicitor  in  London.  One  of  the  partners 
received  him.  The  firm  of  Dering  tt  Son  was  anxious  to  see  Mr. 
Edmund  Gray,  who  had  the  chambers  overhead.  At  what  liours 
was  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  generally  in  his  rooms?  Nobody  knew — 
not  either  of  the  partners,  not  any  of  the  clerks.  He  might  have 
been  met  going  up  and  down  the  stairs,  but  nobody  knew  him  by 
sight  or  anything  about  him.  This,  at  first  sight,  seemed  sus- 
picious ;  afterwards  George  reflected  that  men  may  live  for  years 
on  the  same  staircase,  and  never  know  anything  about  each  otiier. 
Men  who  live  in  Gray's  Inn  do  not  visit  each  other  ;  there  is 
little  neighborly  spirit  among  men  in  chambers,  but  rather  an 
unspoken  distrust. 

"  But,"  said  the  partner,  "  I  can  tell  you  who  is  his  landlord, 
lie  does  not  take  the  rooms  of  the  inn  direct,  but,  as  we  do,  from 
one  who  has  several  sets  on  a  long  lease  and  sublets  the  rooms. 
They  may  know  something  about  the  man  at  the  steward's  office 
across  the  square.     If  not,  the  landlord  will  certainly  know." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  135 

George  asked  if  Edmund  Gray  was  newly  arrived.  No.  It 
appeared  that  he  bad  been  in  Ibc  inn  for  a  long  time.  "  But 
then,"  his  informant  added,  "  be  may  have  been  here  a  hundred 
years  for  all  we  know  ;  we  never  think  of  our  neighbors  in 
chambers.  Opposite  is  a  man  whose  name  has  been  over  the 
door  as  long  as  I  can  remember  anything.  I  don't  know  who  he 
is  or  what  is  his  business.  I  don't  even  know  him  by  sight.  So 
with  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  If  I  were  to  meet  hira  on  the  stairs  I 
should  not  be  any  the  wiser.  You  see  I  am  only  here  in  the 
daytime.  Now,  the  other  man  on  the  second  floor  I  do  know 
something  about,  because  he  is  a  coach  and  was  a  fellow  of  my 
college.  And  the  man  in  the  garrets  I  hear  about  occasionally, 
because  he  is  an  old  barrister  who  sometimes  defends  a  pris- 
oner." 

At  the  steward's  office  George  put  the  same  question.  "  I 
am  a  solicitor,"  he  said.  "  Here  is  my  card.  I  am  most  anxious 
to  see  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  of  No.  22.  Could  yon  save  nie  time 
by  lotting  me  know  at  what  hour  he  is  in  his  chambers  ?" 

They  could  tell  hira  nothing.  Mr.  Gray  was  not  a  tenant  of 
the  inn.  Very  likely  he  was  a  residential  tenant  who  came  home 
in  the  evenings  after  business. 

Everything  learned  is  a  step  gained.  AVhctber  Edmund  Gray 
was  a  man  or  a  long  firm,  the  name  had  been  on  the  door  for 
many  years.  But — many  years? — could  a  confederacy  of  swin- 
dlers go  on  for  many  years,  especially  if  they  undertook  such 
mighty  schemes  for  plunder  as  this  business  ? 

Next  he  went  to  the  address  of  the  landlord.  lie  was  a  house 
agent  in  Bloomsbnry,  and  apparently  a  person  of  respectability. 

"  If  you  could  tell  me,"  George  began,  with  the  same  question, 
"  at  what  hours  I  could  find  your  tenant  in  his  chambers,  or  if 
you  could  give  me  his  business  address,  we  should  be  verv  o;reatly 
obliged.  We  want  to  find  him  at  once — to-day,  if  possible — on 
very  important  business. 

"Well,  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry  —  but,  in  fact,  I  don't  know 
anything  about  my  tenant's  hours,  nor  can  I  give  you  his  place  of 
business.     I  believe  he  has  no  business." 

"Oh  I  But  you  took  him  as  a  tenant.  You  must  have  had 
some  references." 

"Certainly.  And  upon  that  I  can  satisfy  you  very  shortly." 
He  opened  a  great  book,  and  turned  over  the  pages.     "Here  it 


136  THE    IVORY    GATE 

is — 'No.  22  Soutli  Square,  Gray's  Inn,  second  floor,  nortli  side — 
to  Edmund  Gray,  gentleman.  Rent,  forty  pounds  a  year.  Date  of 
taking  the  rooms,  February,  1882,  at  the  half-quarter.  Reference, 
Messrs.  Dcring  &:  Son,  Solicitors,  New  Square,  Lincoln's  Inn.'" 

"  Why — you  mean  that  he  referred  to  us — to  Messrs.  Dering 
&  Son— in  the  year  1882  ?" 

"That  is  so.  Would  you  like  to  sec  the  letter  which  we  re- 
ceived on  application  ?  Wait  a  moment."  lie  rang  the  bell,  and 
a  clerk  appeared,  to  whom  lie  gave  instructions.  "  I  am  bound 
to  say,"  the  landlord  went  on,  "  that  a  more  satisfactory  tenant 
than  Mr.  Gray  docs  not  exist,  lie  pays  his  rent  regularly  by  post- 
office  order  every  quarter  on  the  day  before  quarter-day." 

"Oh!  I  wonder — "  But  he  stopped,  because  to  begin  won- 
dering is  always  futile,  especially  at  so  early  a  stage.  When  there 
are  already  accumulated  facts  to  go  upon,  and  not  till  then,  won- 
dering becomes  the  putting  together  of  the  puzzle. 

"  Well,  here  is  the  letter.  'Gentlemen'"  —  the  house-agent 
read  the  letter  received  on  application  to  the  reference — " '  In  re- 
plv  to  your  letter  of  the  IHth,  we  beg  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  Ed- 
mund Gray  is  a  client  of  ours,  a  gentleman  of  independent  means, 
and  that  he  is  quite  able  to  pay  any  reasonable  rent  for  residence 
or  chambers.  Your  obedient  servants,  Dering  «fc  Son.'  I  sup- 
pose," he  added,  "  that  a  man  doesn't  want  a  better  reference  than 
your  own  ?" 

"No;  certainly  not."  George  looked  at  the  letter.  It  pre- 
sented, as  to  handwriting,  exactly  the  same  points  of  likeness  and 
of  difference  as  all  the  other  letters  in  this  strange  case — the 
body  of  the  letter  apparently  written  in  the  hand  of  Mr.  Dering; 
that  is,  so  as  to  deceive  everybody  ;  the  signature  with  one  or  two 
small  omissions.  "  Certainly  not,"  he  repeated.  "  With  such  a 
reference,  of  course,  you  did  not  hesitate.  Did  you  ever  see  Mr. 
Gray  ?" 

"  Certainly.  I  have  seen  him  often.  First,  when  he  was  get- 
ting his  rooms  furnished,  and  afterwards  on  various  occasions." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he,  to  look  at  ?" 

"  Elderly.  Not  exactly  the  kind  of  man  you'd  expect  to  have 
chambers.  Mostly  they're  young  ones  who  like  the  freedom. 
An  elderly  gentleman;  pleasant  in  his  manners;  smiling  and  af- 
fable ;  gray-haired." 

"  Oh !"     Then  there  was  a  real  Edmund  Gray,  of  ten   years' 


THE    IVORY    GATE  137 

standing  in  the  inn,  wlio  lived,  or  had  chambers,  at  the  number 
stated  in  tlie  forged  letters. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  house  agent,  "that  my  respectable  ten- 
ant has  not  done  anything  bad  ?" 

"  N-no — not  to  my  knowledge.  His  name  occurs  in  rather  a 
disagreeable  case.  Would  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  let  him  know, 
in  case  you  should  meet  him — but  of  course  we  shall  write  to  him 
— that  we  are  most  anxious  to  see  liim  ?" 

This  the  landlord  readily  promised.  "There  is  another  person," 
he  said,  who  can  tell  you  a  great  deal  more  than  anybody  else. 
That  is  his  laundress.  I  don't  know  who  looks  after  him,  but 
you  can  find  out  at  the  inn.  The  policeman  will  know.  Go,  and 
ask  him." 

In  the  game  of  battledore  and  shuttlecock  the  latter  has  no 
chance  except  to  take  the  thing  coolly,  without  temper.  George 
was  the  shuttlecock.  He  was  hit  back  into  Gray's  Inn — this  time 
into  the  arms  of  the  policeman. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  guardian  of  the  peace,  "  I  do  not  know 
anything  about  the  gentleman  myself.  If  he  was  one  of  the  noisy 
ones  I  should  know  him.  But  Iiq  isn't,  and  therefore  I  have  nev- 
er heard  of  him.  But  if  he  lives  at  No.  22  I  can  tell  you  who 
does  his  rooms — and  it's  old  Mrs.  Cripps,  and  she  lives  in  Leather 
Lane." 

This  street,  which  is  now,  comparatively  speaking,  purged  and 
cleansed,  is  not  yet  quite  the  ideal  spot  for  one  who  would  have 
pure  air  and  cleanliness  combined  with  godliness  of  conversation. 
Ilowever,  individual  liberty  is  nowhere  more  absolutely  free  and 
uncontrolled  than  in  Leather  Lane. 

Mrs.  Cripps  lived  on  the  top  floor,  nearest  to  heaven,  of  wliich 
she  ought  to  be  thinking,  because  she  was  now  old  and  near  lier 
end.  She  was  so  old  that  she  was  quite  past  her  work,  and  only 
kept  on  Mr.  Gray's  rooms  because  lie  never  slept  there,  and  they 
gave  her  no  trouble  except  to  go  to  them  in  the  morning  with  a 
duster  and  to  drop  asleep  for  an  hour  or  so.  What  her  one  gen- 
tleman gave  her,  moreover,  was  all  she  had  to  live  upon. 

Though  the  morning  was  warm,  she  was  sitting  over  the  fire 
watching  a  small  pan,  in  which  she  was  stewing  a  savory  mess, 
consisting  of  an  ornamental  block  with  onions,  carrots,  and  tur- 
nips. Perhaps  she  was  thinking — the  poor  old  soul ! — of  the  days 
gone  by — gone  by  for  fifty  years — when  she  was  young,  and  wore 


138  THE    IVORY    GATE 

a  feather  in  her  hat.  Old  hidics  of  lier  class  do  not  think  much 
about  vanished  beauty,  but  they  think  a  good  deal  about  van- 
ished featiiers  and  vanished  hats;  they  remember  tlie  old  free  car- 
riage in  the  streets  with  the  young  friends,  and  the  careless  laugh, 
and  the  ready  jest.  It  is  the  ancient  gentlewoman  who  remem- 
bers tlie  vanished  beauty,  and  thinks  of  what  she  was  fifty  years 
ago. 

Mrs,  Cripps  Iieard  a  step  on  the  narrow  stair  leading  to  her 
room — a  manly  step.  It  mounted  higher  and  more  slowly,  be- 
cause the  stairs  were  dark  as  well  as  narrow.  Then  the  visitor's 
hat  knocked  against  the  door.  He  opened  it,  and  stood  there 
looking  in.  A  gentleman  !  Not  a  district  visitor  or  a  sister  try- 
ing to  persuade  her  to  early  churcli,  nor  yet  the  clergyman — a 
young  gentleman. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Cripps  ?"  he  asked.  "  The  policeman  at  Gray's 
Inn  directed  me  here.  You  are  laundress,  I  believe,  to  Mr.  Ed- 
mund Gray,  of  No.  22?" 

"Suppose  I  am,  sir  r'  she  replied  suspiciously.  A  laundress  is 
like  tlie  hall  porter  of  a  club — you  must  not  ask  her  about  any  of 
her  gentlemen. 

"  I  have  called  to  sec  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  on  very  important 
business.  I  found  his  door  shut.  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  at 
what  hours  he  is  generally  in  his  chambers  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  she  held  out  her  hand. 

The  young  gentleman  placed  half  a  sovereign  in  her  palm. 
Her  fingers  closed  over  the  coin.  She  clutched  it,  and  she  bid  it 
away  in  some  secret  fold  of  her  ragged  dress.  There  is  no  wom- 
an so  ragged,  so  dropping  to  pieces  with  shreds  and  streamers  and 
tatters,  but  she  can  find  a  safe  hiding-place,  somewhere  in  her 
rags,  for  a  coin  or  for  anything  else  that  is  small  and  precious. 

"  I  never  tell  tales  about  my  gentlemen,"  she  said,  "  especially 
when  they  are  young  and  handsome  like  you.  A  pore  laundress 
has  eyes  and  ears  and  hands,  but  she  hasn't  got  a  tongue.  If  she 
had  there  might  be  terrible,  terrible  trouble.  Oh  dear !  yes. 
Ijut  Mr.  Gray  isn't  a  young  gentleman — he's  old,  and  it  isn't  the 
same  thing." 

"Then,"  said  George, "how  and  when  can  I  find  him  ?" 

"I  was  coming  to  that.  You  can't  find  him.  Sometimes  he 
comes,  and  sometimes  he  doesn't  come." 

"  Oh  !     He  doesn't  live  in  the  rooms,  then  ?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  139 

"No.  lie  doesn't  live  in  the  rooms.  He  uses  the  rooms  some- 
times." 

"  Wliat  docs  he  use  tlicm  for  ?" 

"How  should  I  know  ?  All  the  gentlemen  do  tilings  with  pens 
and  paper.  How  should  I  know  what  they  do?  They  make 
their  money  with  their  pens  and  paper.  I  dun  know  how  they 
do  it.  I  suppose  Mr.  Gray  is  making  his  money  like  the  rest  of 
them." 

"  Oh  !  he  goes  to  the  chambers,  and  writes  ?" 

"  Sometimes  it's  weeks  and  weeks  and  months  and  months  be- 
fore he  comes  at  all.  But  always  my  money  regular  and  before- 
hand sent  in  an  envelope  and  a  postal-order." 

*'  Well,  what  is  his  private  address?  I  suppose  he  lives  in  the 
country  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  lives.  I  know  nothing  about  him. 
I  go  there  every  morning,  and  I  do  the  roum.  That's  all  I 
know." 

There  was  no  more  information  to  be  obtained.  Sometimes 
he  came  to  the  inn  ;  sometimes  he  'stayed  away  for  weeks  and 
weeks  and  for  months  and  months. 

"  I  might  ha'  told  you  more,  young  gentleman,"  murmured 
the  old  woman,  "  and  I  might  ha'  told  you  less.  P'r'aps  you'll 
come  again." 

He  went  back  to  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  set  down  his  facts. 

First,  there  was  a  forgery  in  the  year  1883,  in  which  the  name 
of  Edmund  Gray  was  used.  Next,  in  the  scries  of  forgeries  just 
discovered,  not  only  was  the  name  of  Edmund  Gray  used  through- 
out, but  the  liandwriting  of  the  letters  and  checks  was  exactly  the 
same  as  that  of  the  first  check,  with  the  same  peculiarities  in  the 
signature.  This  could  hardly  be  a  coincidence.  The  same  man 
must  have  written  the  whole. 

Then,  who  was  Edmund  Gray? 

He  was  a  real  personage — a  living  man,  not  a  firm  —  one 
known  to  the  hmdlord  of  the  chambers  and  to  the  laundress,  if 
to  nobody  else.  He  did  not  live  in  the  chambers,  but  he  used 
them  for  some  business  purposes;  lie  sometimes  called  there, 
and  wrote.  What  did  he  write  ?  Where  was  he,  and  what  was 
he  doing  when  he  was  not  at  the  chambers?  He  might  be  one 
— leader  or  follower — of  some  secret  gang.  One  has  read  of 
such  gangs,  especially  in  French  novels,  where  the  leaders  are 


140  THE    IVORY    GATE 

noble  dukes  of  the  first  rank,  and  princesses — young,  lovely — of 
the  highest  fashion.  AVliy  should  there  not  be  such  a  gang  in 
London  ?  Clever  conspirators  could  go  a  very  long  way  before 
they  were  even  suspected.  In  this  civilization  of  checks  and  reg- 
istered shares  and  official  transfers,  property  is  so  much  defended 
that  it  is  difficult  to  break  through  the  armor.  But  there  must 
be  weak  places  in  that  armor.  It  must  be  possible  for  the  wit  of 
man  to  devise  some  plan  by  means  of  which  property  can  be  at- 
tacked successfully.     Had  he  struck  such  a  conspiracy  ? 

Thus.  A  man  calling  himself  Edmund  Gray  gets  a  lease  of 
chambers  by  means  of  a  forged  letter  in  answer  to  a  reference. 
It  is  convenient  for  certain  conspirators,  hereinafter  called  the  com- 
pany, to  have  an  address,  though  it  may  never  be  used.  The 
conspiracy  begins  by  forging  a  check  to  his  order  for  seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty  pounds.  That  was  at  the  outset,  when  the  con- 
spirators were  young.  It  was  found  dangerous,  and  the  notes 
were  therefore  replaced  in  the  «afe.  Note  that  the  company, 
through  one  or  other  of  its  members,  has  access  to  that  safe. 
This  might,  perhaps,  be  by  means  of  a  key — in  the  evening,  af- 
ter office  hours ;  or  by  some  one  who  was  about  the  place  all 
day. 

V^ery  good.  The  continued  connection  of  some  member  of 
the  firm  with  Dering  <fc  Son  is  proved  by  the  subsequent  proceed- 
ings. After  eight  years,  the  company  having  matured  their  ma- 
cliinery,  and  perhaps  worked  out  with  success  other  enterprises, 
return  to  their  first  quarry,  where  they  have  the  advantage  of  ac- 
cess to  the  letters,  and  can  look  over  their  disposition.  They  are 
thus  enabled  to  conduct  their  successive  coups,  each  bigger  than 
the  one  before.  And  for  four  months  the  thing  remains  undis- 
covered. Having  the  certificates  in  their  hands,  what  was  to  pre- 
vent them  from  selling  the  whole  and  dividing  the  proceeds? 
Nothing.  Yet,  in  such  a  case  they  would  disappear,  and  here 
was  Edmund  Gray  still  fearlessly  at  large.  Why  had  he  not  got 
clear  away  long  before  ? 

Again.  All  the  correspondence  concerning  Edmund  Gray  was 
carried  on  between  the  office  and  the  brokers.  There  were  no 
letters  from  Edmund  Gray  at  all.  Suppose  it  should  be  found 
impossible  to  connect  Edmund  Gray  with  the  transactions  carried 
on  in  his  name.  Suppose  the  real  Edmund  Gray  were  to  deny 
any  knowledge  at  all  of  the  transactions.     Suppose  he  were  to 


THE    IVORY    GATE  141 

say  that  ten  years  before  he  had  brought  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  Mr.  Dering,  and  knew  nothing  more  about  him.  ^Vell,  but 
the  certificates  themselves — what  about  them?  Their  possession 
would  have  to  be  accounted  for.  So  he  turned  the  matter  over 
and  over  and  arrived  at  nothing,  not  even  the  next  step  to  take. 

He  went  back  to  the  chief,  and  reported  what  he  had  discov- 
ered— the  existence  of  an  Edmund  Gray,  the  letter  of  recom- 
mendation to  the  landlord.  "Another  forgery,"  groaned  Mr. 
Dering. 

"  It  is  done  in  the  office,"  said  George.  "  It  is  all  done  in  the 
office — letters,  checks,  everything." 

"  The  office,"  Checkley  repeated.    "  No  doubt  about  it." 

"Give  up  everything  else,  George,"  said  Mr.  Dering  eagerly — 
"  everything  else.  Find  out — find  out.  Employ  detectives.  Spend 
money  as  much  as  you  please.  I  am  on  a  volcano — I  know  not 
what  may  be  taken  from  me  next.  Only  find  out,  my  partner, 
my  dear  partner — find  out." 

^Yhcn  George  was  gone,  Checkley  went  after  him  and  opened 
the  door  mysteriously,  to  assure  himself  that  no  one  was  listen- 
ing. 

"  What  are  you  going  on  like  that  for,  Checkley  ?"  asked  his 
master  irritably.     "  Is  it  another  forgery  ?     It  rains  forgeries." 

"No,  no.  Look  here.  Don't  trouble  too  much  about  it. 
Don't  try  to  think  how  it  was  done.  Don't  talk  about  the  other 
man.  Look  here.  You've  sent  that  young  gentleman  to  find  out 
this  business.  Well,  mark  my  words — he  won't.  lie  won't,  I 
say.  IIo'll  make  a  splash,  but  he  won't  find  anything.  Who  found 
out  the  last  job  ?" 

"  You  said  you  did.     But  nothing  was  proved." 

"  I  found  that  out.  Plenty  of  proof  there  was.  Look  here  " 
— his  small  eyes  twinkled  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows — "  I'll  find 
out  this  job  as  well,  see  if  I  don't.  Why  " — he  rubbed  his  hands 
— "  ho!  ho!  I  have  found  out.  Don't  ask  me — don't  put  a  sin- 
gle question.  But  I've  got  'em — oh !  I've  got  'cm,  I've  got  'em 
for  you — as  they  say — on  toast." 


142  THE    IVORY    GATE 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THINGS    MORE    REMARKABLE 

After  such  a  prodigious  event  as  the  discovery  of  these  unpar- 
alleled forgeries,  anytliing  might  happen  without  being  regarded. 
People's  minds  arc  open  at  such  times  to  sec,  hear,  and  accept 
everything.  After  the  earthquake  ghosts  walk,  solid  things  fly 
away  of  their  own  accord,  good  men  commit  murder,  rich  men 
go  empty  away,  and  nobody  is  in  the  least  surprised. 

Sec  what  happened,  the  very  next  day,  at  the  office  in  New 
Square.  ^Vllun  George  arrived  in  tlie  morning  he  found  that  the 
senior  partner  had  not  yet  appeared.  lie  was  late.  For  the  first 
time  for  fifty  years  and  more  he  was  late.  He  went  to  his  place, 
and  the  empty  chair  gave  an  air  of  bereavement  to  the  room. 
Checkley  was  laying  out  the  table;  that  is,  he  had  done  so  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  before,  but  he  could  not  leave  off  doing  it;  he  was 
loath  to  leave  the  table  before  the  master  came;  he  took  up  the 
blotting-pad  and  laid  it  down  again  ;  he  arranged  the  pens ;  he 
lingered  over  the  job. 

"Not  come  yet?"  George  cried,  astonished.  "Do  you  think 
that  yesterday's  shock  has  been  too  much  for  him  ?" 

"I  believe  it's  killed  liim,"  said  the  old  clerk — "killed  hira. 
That's  what  it  has  done" — and  he  went  on  muttering  and  mum- 
bling. "Don't,"  he  cried,  when  George  took  up  the  letters. 
"  P'r'aps  he  isn't  dead  yet — you  haven't  stepped  into  his  shoes 
just  yet.     Let  them  letters  alone." 

"  Not  dead  yet.  I  hope  not."  George  began  to  open  the  let- 
ters, regardless  of  the  surly  and  disrespectful  words.  One  may 
forgive  a  good  deal  to  fidelity.  "He  will  go  on  for  many  years 
after  we  have  got  the  money  back  for  him." 

"After  some  of  us" — Checkley  corrected  him — "have  got  his 
money  back  for  him."  He  turned  to  go  back  to  his  own  office, 
then  turned  again,  and  came  back  to  the  table.  He  laid  both 
hands  upon  it,  leaned  forward,  shaking  his  head,  and  said,  with 


1  A'i 

THE    IVORY   GATE 


tvcmblincr  voice,  "Did  you  never  think,  Mr.  Austin,  of  the  black 
,t  nod  of  the  thin^?  Him  that  done  it,  you  know-him 
th^t  eat  his  bread  and  took  his  money."  ^^  ^''^^'^'''IXloZ 
greatly  moved  his  grammar  went  back  to  the  early  days  befo.e 
he  was  confidential  clerk.  -.K^^t^ 

"  I  d,u-o  say  it  was  ungrateful.     I  l.avo  been  tluukmg,  h.tliorto, 

°^^7ei]^.^^a:::ed-aU  of  us-„avenH  «-that  It  was 
done  i,:  .'his  office?  So^e  one  in  the  offiee  done  .t  »,*  tbe  e  P 
ot  some  one  out;  some  one  wlio  knows  Ins  ways  -he  pomtefl 
to  the  empt°-  ehair-"  some  one  who'd  known  all  Ins  ways  fov  a 
lono-  time,  ten  years  at  least.'  •   ^  +^ 

-rhinc:s  certainly  seem  to  point  that  .ay-and  they  pomt  to 
you,"  he'vould  have  added,  but  refrained.  uThev've 

The  old  man   shook  his  head  agam,  and  went  on      They    c 

eaten  his  broad  and  done  his  ^^r^^  ^^^-^t:'?;;.2Z^- 
it,  Mr.  Austin-I  ask  you  plain-don't  you  call  it  black  i.igiati 

'" '!^l' am  sure  it  is.  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  about  the  ingrati- 
tude. But,  you  see,  Checkley,  that  vice  is  not  one  which  the 
couris  vecJgnize.  It  is  not  one  denounced  m  the  Dec.dogi.e 
There  is  a  good  deal  to  consider,  in  fact,  before  we  get  to  the 
inrrratitude.  ^  It  is  probably  a  criminal  conspiracy  ;  it  is  a  felony  , 
itls  a  thing  to  be  punished  by  a  long  term  of  penal  servitude. 
When  we  Imve  worried  through  all  this  and  got  our  consp.ratois 
under  lock  and  kev,  we  will  proceed  to  consider  their  ingratitude. 
There  is  also  the  bad  form  of  it,  and  the  absence  of  proper  feehng 
of  it  and  the  want  of  consideration  of  the  trouble  they  give. 
Patience!  Wc  shall  have  to  consider  the  business  from  your 
point  of  view  presently."  .      ..  t 

"I  wouldn't  scoff  and  snigger  at  it,  Mr.  Austin,  if  I  were  }0U. 
Scofhn'  and  sniggerin'  might  bring  bad  luck.  Because,  you  know, 
there's  others  besides  yourself  determined  to  bring  this  thing  to 

a  right  issue."  . 

George  put  down  his  papers,  and  looked  at  this  importunate 
person  What  did  he  mean?  The  old  man  shrunk  and  shriv- 
elled and  grew  small.  He  trembled  all  over.  But  he  remamed 
standin-  with  his  hands  on  the  table,  leaning  forward.  E.gbt 
years  ago,"  he  went  on,  "  when  that  other  business  happened— 
when  Mr.  Arundel  cut  his  lucky — " 


144  THE    IVORY    GATE 

*'  I  will  have  nothing  said  against  Mr.  Arundel.  Go  to  your 
own  room." 

"One  word — I  will  speak  it.  If  lies  dead,  I  shall  not  stay  long 
liere.  But  I  shall  stay  so  long  as  he's  alive,  though  you  are  his 
partner.  Only  one  word,  sir.  If  Mr.  Arundel  hadn't — run  away 
— he'd  'a'  hecn  a  partner  instead  of  you." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well,  sir — s'pose  he'd  been  found  out  after  he  was  made  a 
partner,  instead  of  before?"' 

George  pointed  to  the  door.  The  old  man  seemed  off  his 
head — was  it  with  terror?  Chccklcy  obeyed.  But  at  the  door 
lie  turned  his  head,  and  grinned.  Quite  a  theatrical  grin.  It  ex- 
pressed malignity  and  the  pleasure  of  anticipation.  What  was 
the  matter  with  the  old  man  ?  Surely,  terror.  Who,  in  the  oflice, 
except  iiimsclf,  had  the  control  of  the  letters?  Who  drew  that 
quarterly  check?     Surely,  terror. 

It  was  not  until  half-past  eleven  that  Mr.  Dcriiig  arrived  at  the 
office,  lie  usually  passed  through  the  clerks'  office  outside  his 
own  ;  this  morning  he  entered  by  his  own  private  door,  which 
opened  on  the  stairs.  No  one  had  the  key  except  himself.  lie 
generally  proceeded  in  an  orderly  and  methodical  manner  to  hang 
up  his  hat  and  coat,  take  off  his  gloves,  place  his  umbrella  in 
the  stand,  throw  open  the  safe,  sit  down  in  his  chair,  adjusted  at 
a  certain  distance  of  three  inches  or  so,  put  on  his  glasses,  and 
then,  without  either  haste  or  dawdling,  to  begin  the  work  of  the 
day.  It  is  very  certain  that  to  approach  work  always  in  exactly 
the  same  way  saves  the  nerves.  The  unmethodical  workman  gets 
to  his  office  at  a  varying  hour,  travels  by  different  routes — now 
on  an  omnibus,  now  on  foot;  does  nothing  to-day  in  the  same 
way  that  he  did  it  yesterday.  He  breaks  up  early.  At  sixty  he 
talks  of  retiring;  at  seventy  he  is  past  his  work. 

This  morning  Mr.  Dering  did  nothing  in  its  proper  order. 
First,  he  was  nearly  two  hours  late.  Next,  he  came  in  by  his 
private  door.  George  rose  to  greet  him,  but  stopped  because — a 
most  wonderful  thing — his  partner  made  as  if  he  did  not  observe 
his  presence.  His  eyes  went  through  George  in  creepy  and  ghost- 
ly fashion.  The  junior  partner  stood  still,  silent,  in  bewilder- 
ment. Saw  one  ever  the  like,  that  a  man  should  at  noontide 
walk  in  his  sleep?  Ilis  appearance,  too,  was  strange — his  hat, 
pushed  a  little  back,  gave  a  touch  of  recklessness — actually  reck- 


THE    IVORY   GATE 


145 


Icssness— to  the  austere  old  lawyer;  his  eyes  glowed  pleasantly; 
and  on  his  face— that  grave  and  sober  face— there  was  a  pleased 
and  satisfied  smile;  he  looked  happy,  interested,  benevolent,  but 
not— no— not  Mr.  Edward  Dcring.  Again,  his  coat,  always  tight- 
ly buttoned,  was  now  hanging  loose;  outside,  it  had  been  swing- 
incr  in  the  breeze  to  the  wonder  of  Lincoln's  Inn  ;  and  he  wore 
no"' gloves,  a  thing  most  remarkable,  lie  looked  about  the  room, 
nodded  his  head,  and  shut  the  door  beliind  him. 

"He's  somnambulating,"  George  murmured,  "or  else  I^am  in- 
visible.    I  must  have  eaten  fern-seed  without  knowing  it." 

Mr  Derin"-,  still  smiling  pleasantly,  walked  across  the  room  to 
the  safe,  and'unlocked  it.  ""lie  had  in  his  hand  a  brown-paper  par- 
cel tied  with  red  tape— this  he  deposited  in  the  safe,  locked  it  up, 
and  dropped  the  keys  in  his  pocket.  The  window  beside  the 
safe  was  open.  Uc  sat  down,  looking  out  into  the  square. 
'  At  this  moment  Checkley  opened  the  door  softly,  after  his 
wont  to  brin<r  in  more  letters.  Ue  stopped  short,  seeing  his  mas- 
ter thus  seate'd,  head  in  hand,  at  the  window.  He  recognized  the 
symptoms  of  yesterday-thc  rapt  look,  the  open  eyes  that  saw 
nothincr.  He  crept  on  tiptoe  across  the  room.  "Hush!  he 
whimpered  "Don't  move.  Don't  speak.  He  went  like  this  yes- 
terday. Don't  make  the  least  noise.  He'll  come  round  pres- 
ently." 

"What  is  it?"  ^         .       ,„ 

"  Kind  of  fit,  it  is.     Trouble  done  it.     Yah !     Ingratitood.^ 
lie  would  have  hissed  the  word,  but  it  has  no  sibilant.    You  can't 
hiss  without  the  materials.    "  Yesterday's  trouble.    That's  what's 

done  it."  „, 

They  stood  watching  in  silence  for  about  ten  minutes,  ilic 
oflSce  was  like  the  court  of  the  sleeping  princess.  Then  Checkley 
sneezed.  Mr.  Dering  probably  mistook  the  sneeze  for  a  kiss,  for 
be  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  opened  them  again,  and  arose 
once  more  himself,  grave  and  austere. 

He  nodded  cheerfully,  took  of!  his  hat,  hung  it  on  its  peg,  but- 
toned his  coat,  and  threw  open  the  safe.  Evidently  he  remem- 
bered nothing  of  what  had  just  passed. 

"You  are  early,  George,"  he  said.  "You  are  before  me,  which 
is  unusual.      However,  the  early  bird— we  know."        _ 

"  Before  you  for  once.    Are  you  quite  well  this  morning  ?    Mono 
the  worse  for  yesterday's  trouble  ?" 
7 


146  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"He's  always  well,"  said  Chcclclcy,  with  cheerfulness  assumed. 
"  Nobody  ever  sees  him  ill — he  get  ill  ?  Not  him.  Eats  as  hearty 
as  five-and-twenty,  and  walks  as  upright." 

"I  am  perfectly  well,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge.  Yester- 
day's business  upset  me  for  the  time,  and  it  kept  me  awake  most 
of  the  night.  It  is  certainly  a  very  great  trouble.  You  have  no 
news,  I  suppose,  that  brought  you  here  earlier  thau  usual  ?" 

"  Nothing  new  since  yesterday." 

"  And  you  feel  pretty  confident  ?" 

"  I  feel  like  a  sleuth-hound.  I  understand  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase.  I  long  to  be  on  the  scent  again.  As  for  I'^dmund  (Iray, 
he  is  as  good  as  in  prison  already." 

"Good!  I  was  for  the  moment  shaken  out  of  myself.  I  was 
bewildered.  I  was  unable  to  look  at  the  facts  of  the  case  calmly. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  wanted  advice.  Well,  I  now  un- 
derstand what  a  great  thing  it  is  that  our  profession  exists  for  the 
assistance  of  men  in  trouble.  How  would  the  world  get  along 
at  all  without  solicitors?" 

He  took  his  usual  place  at  the  table,  and  turned  over  his  letters. 
"This  morning,"  he  went  on,  "I  feci  more  assured.  My  mind  is 
clear  again.  I  can  talk  about  the  case.  Now  then,  let  us  sec 
— Edmund  Gray  is  no  shadow,  but  a  man.  He  has  made  me 
recommend  him  to  his  landlord.  He  is  a  clever  man  and  a  bold 
man.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  about  putting  your  hands  upon  him. 
Complete  your  case  before  you  strike.     But  make  no  delay." 

"There  shall  be  none.  And  you  shall  hear  everything  from 
day  to  day,  or  from  hour  to  hour." 

Left  alone,  Mr.  Dering  returned  to  his  papers  and  his  work. 

At  half-past  one  Checkley  looked  in.  "  Not  going  to  take 
lunch  this  morning?" 

"Lunch?  I  have  only  just — "  Mr.  Dering  looked  at  his 
watch.  "Bless  me!  Most  extraordinary!  This  morning  has 
slipped  away.  I  thought  I  had  only  just  sat  down.  It  seems  not 
more  than  half  an  hour  since  Mr.  Austin  left  me.  Why,  I  should 
have  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  let  the  time  go  by — nothing  worse 
for  a  man  of  ray  years  than  irregular  feeding." 

"It's  lucky  you've  got  me,"  said  his  clerk.  "Half  a  dozen 
partners  wouldn't  look  after  your  meal-times.  Ah  !"  as  his  master 
went  upstairs  to  the  room  where  he  always  had  his  luncheon  laid 
out,  "  he's  clean  forgotten.     Some  of  these  days,  walking  about 


THE    IVOUY    GATE 


147 


wrapped  up  in  his  thoughts,  he'll  be  run  over.  Clean  forgotten 
it,  he  has.  Sits  down  in  a  dream  ;  walks  about  in  a  dream ;  some 
of  these  days  he'll  do  something  in  a  dream.  Then  there'll  be 
trouble."  He  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  his  own  desk, 
where  ho  was  alone,  the  juniors  having  gone  out  to  dinner.  His 
own  dinner  was  in  his  coat-pocket.  It  consisted  of  a  saveloy  cut 
in  thin  slices  and  laid  in  bread  with  batter  and  mustard— a  tasty 
meal,  lie  slowly  devoured  the  whole  to  the  last  crumb.  Then, 
Mr.  Bering  having  by  this  time  finished  his  lunch  and  descended 
again,  Chc'cklcy  went  upstairs  and  finished  the  pint  of  claret,  of 
wliich  his  master  had  taken  one  glass.  "  It's  sour  stuff,"  he  said. 
«'It  don't  behave  as  wine  in  a  man's  inside  ought  to  behave.  It 
don't  make  liim  a  bit  joyfuller.  But  it's  pleasant,  too.  Why 
they  can't  drink  port  wine— which  is  real  wiue— when  they  can 
afford  it,  I  don't  know." 

It  was  past  three  in  the  afternoon  when  George  returned,  not 
quite  so  confident  in  his  bearing,  yet  full  of  news. 

"  If  you  are  quite  ready  to  listen,"  he  said,  "  I've  got  a  good 
deal  to  tell.     First  of  all,  I  thought  I  would  have  another  shot  at 
Gray's  Inn.     I  went  to  the  chambers.     The  outer  door  was  open, 
which  looked  as  if  the  man  was  at  home.    I  knocked  at  the  inner 
door,  which  was  opened  by  the  laundress,  the  old  woman  whom 
I  saw  yesterday.     *  Well,  sir,'  she  said,  '  you  are  unlucky.    The 
master  has  been  here  this  very  morning,  and  he  hasn't  been  long 
gone.     You've  only  missed  him  by  half  an  hour  or  so.'     I  asked 
her  if  he  would  return  that  day,  but  she  knew  nothing.     Then  I 
asked  her  if  she  would  let  me  write,  and  leave  a  note  for  him.   To 
this  she  consented,  rather  unwillingly.     I  went  in,  therefore,  and 
wrote  my  note  at  Mr.  Gray's  table.     I  asked  him  to  call  here  on 
important  business,  and  I  marked  the  note  '  Urgent.'     I  think 
there  can  be  no  harm  in  that.     Then  I  looked  about  the  room. 
It  is  one  of  those  old  wainscoted  rooms,  furnished  simply,  but 
everything  solid  and  good— a  long  table,  nearly  as  large  as  tliis 
one  of  yours;  solid  chairs;  a  solid  sofa.     Three  or  four  pictures 
on  the  wall,  and  a  bookcase  full  of  books.     No  signs  of  occupa- 
pation ;  no  letters ;  no  flowers.     Everything  covered  with  dust, 
although  the  old  woman  was  there.     I  could  have  wished  to  cx- 
aminclhe  papers  on  the  table,  but  the  presence  of  the  old  woman 
forbade  that  dishonorable  act.     I  did,  liowevcr,  look  at  the  books. 
And  I  made  a  most  curious  discovery.     Mr.  l':dinund  Gray  is  a 


148  THE    IVOUT    GATE 

Socialist.  All  his  books  arc  on  Socialism ;  tlicy  arc  in  French, 
Gorman,  and  English — all  books  of  Socialism.  And  the  pictures 
on  the  wall  are  portraits  of  distin2;uished  Socialists.  Isn't  that 
wonderful  ?  Did  one  ever  hear  before  of  Socialism  and  forgery 
going  together?" 

"Not  too  fast.  We  haven't  yet  connected  Edmund  Gray  with 
the  forgery.     At  present  we  only  know  that  his  name  was  used." 

"  Wait  a  bit.  I  am  coming  to  that.  After  leaving  the  cham- 
bers I  went  into  the  City,  and  saw  Mr.  Ellis.  First  of  all,  none 
of  the  stock  has  been  sold." 

"Oh!  they  have  had  four  months,  and  they  have  not  disposed 
of  it?  They  must  have  met  with  unforeseen  difficulties.  Let 
mc  see." 

Mr.  Bering  was  now  thoroughly  alert.  The  weakness  of  the 
morning  had  completely  passed  away.  "  What  dilTiculties?  Upon 
my  word  !  I  cannot  understand  that  there  could  have  been  any. 
They  have  got  the  papers  from  a  respectable  solicitor  through  a 
respectable  broker.  No,  no.  Their  course  was  perfectly  plain. 
But  rogues  often  break  down  through  their  inability  to  see  the 
strength  of  their  own  case." 

"  Next,  Mr.  Ellis  has  ascertained  that  some  of  the  dividends 
are  received  by  your  bank.  I  therefore  called  on  the  manager. 
Now,  be  prepared  for  another  surprise." 

"  Another  forgery  ?" 

"Yes,  another  forgery.  It  is  nine  or  ten  years  since  you  sent 
a  letter  to  the  manager — I  saw  it — introducing  your  client,  Ed- 
mund Gray,  gentleman,  who  was  desirous  of  opening  a  private 
account.  lie  paid  in  a  small  sum  of  money,  which  has  been 
lying  to  his  credit  ever  since,  and  has  not  been  touched.  la 
February  last  he  received  another  letter  from  you,  and  again  in 
March  and  April,  forwarding  certificates,  and  requesting  him  to 
receive  the  dividends.  With  your  own  hand  you  placed  the  pa- 
pers in  the  bank.  I  saw  the  letters.  I  would  swear  to  your 
handwriting." 

"  These  people  are  as  clever  as  they  are  audacious." 

"At  every  point  a  letter  from  you — a  letter  which  the  ablest 
expert  would  tell  was  your  handwriting.  Your  name  covers  and 
vouches  for  everything." 

"Did  you  tell  the  manager  what  has  happened?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  told  him  everything.     And  this  is,  in  substance. 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


149 


the  line  he  takes.  'Your  partner,'  he  says,  '  allc£?es  that  those 
papers  have  been  procured  by  forgery.  He  says  that  the  letter 
of  introduction  is  a  forgery.  Very  good.  It  may  be  so.  But  I 
have  opened  this  account  for  a  customer  who  brought  me  an  m- 
troduction  from  the  best  solicitor  in  London,  whose  handwntmg 
I  know  well  and  recognize  in  the  letter.  Such  an  allegation 
would  not  be  enough  in  itself  for  me  to  take  action.  Until  a  civil 
or  criminal  action  'is  brought— until  it  is  concluded— I  could  not 
refuse  to  treat  the  customer  like  all  the  rest.  At  the  same  time, 
I  will  take  what  steps  I  can  to  inquire  into  my  customer's  antece- 
dents.'" 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Dcring. 

"  I  asked  liim  next  what  he  would  do  if  the  customer  sent  for 
the  papers.  ITe  said  that  if  an  action  were  brought  he  would 
probably  be  served  with  a  subpoena  duces  tecum,  making  him 
keep  and  produce  these  papers  as  forming  part  of  the  documents 
in  the  case."  ^^ 

"  Certainlv,  certainly  ;  the  manager  knows  his  law. 
" '  And,'  he  went  on,  '  as  regards  checks,  I  shall  pay  them  or 
receive  them  until  restrained.'" 

"  In  other  words,  he  said  what  we  expected.  For  our  own  ac- 
tion now." 

"We  might  apply  to  a  judge  in  chambers  for  an  attachment 
or  a  garnishcr  order.     That  must  be  'pendente  lite,  an  interlocutory 
proceeding,  in  the  action.     As  yet,  we  have  not  brought  an  action 
at  all.     My  partner"— Mr.  Dering  rubbed  his  hands  cheerfully— 
'"  l'  think  we  have  done  very  well  so  far.     These  are  clumsy  scoun- 
drels, after  all.     They  thought  to  divert  suspicion  by  using  my 
name.     They  thought  to  cover  themselves  with  my  name.     But 
they  sliould  have  sold  and  realized  without  the  least  delay.     Very 
good !     We  have  now  got  our  hands  upon  the  papers.     It  would 
have  complicated  matters  horribly  had  the  stock  been  sold  and 
transferred.     So  far  we  arc  safe.     Because,  you  see,  after  what 
they  have  heard  the  bank  would  certainly  not  give  them  up  with- 
out'letting  us  know.     They  would  warn  us;  they  would  put  the 
man  off  Tthey  would  ask  him  awkward  questions  about  himself. 
Oh  !  I  think  we  arc  safe — quite  safe." 

Mr.  Dering  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  was  thinking  last  night," 
he  continued,  "  of  the  trouble  we  might  have  if  those  certificates 
bad  changed  hands.     They  might  have  been  bought  and  sold  a 


160  THE    IVORY    GATE 

dozen  times  in  four  months ;  tlicy  might  liavc  boon  sold  in  separate 
small  lots,  and  an  order  of  the  court  necessary  for  every  transaction. 
Wo  have  now  nothiiio;  but  the  simple  question  before  us:  llow 
did  the  man  Edmund  Gray  get  possession  of  this  property  ?" 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  went  on  quietly, 
"To  lose  this  money  would  be  a  heavy  blow  for  me — not  all  my 
fortune,  nor  a  quarter,  but  a  large  sum.  I  have  plenty  left;  I 
have  no  hungry  and  expectant  heirs;  my  people  are  all  wealthy 
— but  yet  a  very  heavy  loss.  And  then — to  be  robbed.  I  have 
always  wondered  why  we  left  off  hanging  robbers.  They  ought 
to  be  hanged,  every  one.  He  who  invades  the  sacred  right  of 
property  should  be  killed — killed  without  hope  of  mercy."  He 
spoke  with  the  earnestness  of  sincerity.  "To  lose  this  property 
would  not  be  ruin  to  me,  yet  it  would  be  terrible.  It  would 
take  so  many  years  out  of  my  past  life.  Every  year  means  so 
much  money  saved.  Forty  thousand  pounds  means  ten  years  of 
my  past — not  taken  away  so  that  I  should  be  ten  years  younger, 
but  ten  years  of  work  annihilated.  Could  I  forgive  the  man  who 
would  so  injure  me?     Never." 

"  I  understand,"  said  George.  "  Fortunately,  we  shall  get  the 
papers  back.  The  fact  of  their  possession  must  connect  the  pos- 
sessor with  the  fraud.  AVho  is  he  ?  Can  he  be  warned  already  ? 
Yet  who  should  tell  him  ?  Who  knows  that  we  have  discovered 
the  business?  You,  your  friend  Mr.  Ellis,  the  manager  of  the 
bank — no  one  else.  Yes,  there  is  also  Checkley — Checkley,"  he 
repeated.  He  could  not — yet — express  his  suspicions  as  to  the 
old  and  faithful  servant.     "  Checkley  also  knows." 

At  this  point  Checkley  himself  opened  the  door,  and  brought 
in  a  card — that  of  the  bank  manager. 

"  I  have  called,"  said  the  visitor  liurriedly,  "  to  tell  you  of 
something  important  that  happened  this  morning.  I  did  not 
know  it  when  we  were  talking  over  tliis  business,  Mr.  Austin.  It 
happened  at  ten  o'clock,  as  soon  as  the  doors  were  open.  A  let- 
ter was  brought  by  hand  from  Mr.  Dcring — " 

"Another  forgery  !     When  will  they  stop?" 

" — asking  for  those  certificates  to  be  given  to  the  bearer — Mr. 
Edmund  Gray's  certificates.  This  was  done.  They  are  no  longer 
at  the  bank." 

"  Oh  1  Then  they  have  been  warned  1"  cried  George.  "  Wlio 
was  the  messenger?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  151 

"  lie  was  a  boy.     Looked  like  an  ofTice-boy." 

"  I  will  inquire  directly  if  it  was  one  of  our  boys.     Go  on." 

"  That  settles  the  difficulty  as  to  our  action  in  case  tlic  papers 
arc  wanted  by  you.  We  no  longer  hold  them.  As  to  the  div- 
idends, we  shall  continue  to  receive  them  to  the  account  of  Mr. 
Edmund  Gray  until  we  get  an  order  or  an  injunction." 

"The  difficulty,"  said  George,  "is  to  connect  the  case  with  Mr. 
Edmund  Gray  bodily.  At  present  wo  have  notliing  but  the  let- 
ters to  go  upon.  Suppose  the  real  Edmund  Gray  says  that  ho 
knows  notliing  about  it.  What  are  we  to  do?  You  remember 
receiving  the  dividends  for  him.     Has  he  drawn  a  clicck?" 

"  No ;  we  have  never  paid  any  check  at  all  for  him." 

"  Uave  you  seen  him  ?" 

'*  No  ;  I  have  never  seen  him." 

"  It  is  a  most  wonderful  puzzle.  After  all,  the  witlidrawal  of 
the  papers  can  only  mean  a  resolution  to  sell  tliem.  He  must 
instruct  somebody.     He  must  appear  in  the  matter." 

"  He  may  instruct  somebody  as  he  instructed  me — in  the  name 
of  Mr.  Dering." 

"  Another  forgery  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  George.  **  We  must  watch,  and  find  out  this  mys- 
terious Edmund  Gray.  After  all,  it  will  not  help  us  to  say  that  a 
forged  letter  gave  certain  instructions  to  do  certain  things  for  a 
certain  person — say  the  queen — unless  you  can  establish  the  com- 
plicity of  that  person.  And  that — so  far — we  certainly  have  not 
done.     Meantime,  what  next?" 

Obviously,  the  next  thing  was  to  find  out  if  any  of  the  office- 
boys  had  taken  that  letter  to  the  bank.  No  one  had  been  sent 
on  that  errand. 


ClIAl'TEIi  XV 
ciieckley's    case 


That  evening  Mr.  Chcckley  was  not  in  his  customary  place  at 
the  Salutation,  where  his  presence  was  greatly  desired.  He  ar- 
rived late,  when  it  wanted  only  a  quarter  to  eleven.  The  faded 
barrister  was  left  alone  in  the  room,  lingering  over  the  day's  pa- 


162  THE    IVORY    GATE 

per,  with  his  empty  glass  beside  him.  Mr.  Checkley  entered  with 
an  air  of  triumph,  and  something  like  the  clastic  spring  of  a  vic- 
tor in  his  aged  step.  He  called  Robert,  and  ordered  at  his  own 
expense,  for  himself,  a  costly  drink — a  compound  of  Jamaica 
rum,  hot  water,  sugar,  and  lemon,  although  it  was  an  evening  in 
July,  and,  for  the  time  of  year,  almost  pleasantly  warm.  Nor 
did  he  stop  here,  for,  with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  just  for 
once — to  mark  a  joyful  occasion — plunges,  he  rattled  his  money 
in  his  pocket,  and  ordered  another  for  the  barrister.  "  For,"  he 
said,  "this  evening  I  have  done  a  good  work,  and  I  will  mark 
the  day." 

\Vhen  the  glasses  were  brought  lie  lifted  hi?,  and  cried,  "  Come, 
let  us  drink  to  the  confusion  of  all  rogues,  great  and  small.  Down 
%Yith  'cm  I" 

"  Your  toast,  Mr.  Checkley,"  replied  the  barrister,  "  would  make 
niv  profession  useless;  if  there  were  no  rogues  there  would  be  no 
law.  That,  however,  would  injure  me  less  than  many  of  my 
brethren.  I  drink,  therefore,  confusion  to  rogues,  great  and 
small.  Down  with  'em.  This  is  excellent  grog.  Down  with 
'em!"  So  saying,  he  finished  his  glass,  and  departed  to  his  gar- 
ret, where,  thanks  to  the  grog,  he  slept  nobly,  and  dreamed  that 
he  was  a  master  in  chancery. 

The  reason  of  this  unaccustomed  mirth  was  as  follows :  Check- 
ley,  by  this  tiilie,  had  fully  established  in  his  own  mind  the  con- 
clusion that  the  prime  mover  in  the  deed — the  act — the  thing — 
was  none  other  than  the  new  partner,  the  young  upstart,  whom 
he  hated  with  a  hatred  inextinguishable,  lie  was  as  certain  about 
liim  as  he  had  been  certain  about  Athelstan  Arundel,  and  for  much 
the  same  reasons.  Very  well.  As  yet  he  had  not  dared  to  speak ; 
King  Pharaoh's  chief  scribe  would  have  had  the  same  liesitation 
at  proffering  any  theory  concerning  Joseph.  To-night,  however — 
But  you  shall  hear. 

Everybody  was  out  of  the  office  at  half-past  seven,  when  he  left 
it.  lie  walked  round  the  empty  rooms,  looking  into  unlocked 
drawers — one  knows  not  what  he  expected  to  find.  lie  looked 
into  Mr.  Austin's  room,  and  shook  his  fist  and  grinned  at  the 
empty  chair. 

"  ril  have  you  yet,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  fox  !  fox  !  I'll  have  you  if 
I  wait  for  thirty  years  !" 

It  adds  an  additional  pang  to  old  age  when  one  feels  that  if  the 


THE    IVORY-    GATE  153 

end  comes  prematurely,  wlien  one  is  only  eiglity  or  so,  there  may 
be  a  revenge  unfinished.  I  have  always  envied  the  dying  hero 
who  had  no  enemies  to  forgive  because  he  had  killed  them  all. 

"When  he  left  the  place  he  walked  across  the  inn,  and  so  into 
Chancery  Lane,  where  he  crossed  over  and  entered  Gray's  Inn  by 
the  llolborn  archway.  lie  lingered  in  South  Square;  he  walked 
all  round  it  twice;  he  read  the  names  on  the  door-posts,  keeping 
all  the  time  an  eye  on  No.  22.  Presently  he  was  rewarded,  A 
figure  which  he  knew,  tall  and  well-proportioned,  head  flung 
back,  walked  into  the  inn,  and  made  straight  for  No.  22.  It  was 
none  other  than  Atlielstan  Arundel.  The  old  man  crept  into  the 
entrance,  where  he  was  partly  hidden  ;  he  could  see  across  the 
square,  himself  unseen.  Athelstan  walked  into  the  house  and  up 
the  stairs;  the  place  was  quiet;  Clieckley  could  hear  his  steps  on 
the  wooden  stairs;  he  heard  him  knock  at  a  door;  he  heard  the 
door  open,  and  the  voices  of  men  talking. 

"  Ah  I''  said  Clieckley,  "  now  we've  got  'cm  !" 

Well,  but  this  was  not  all.  For  presently  there  came  into  the 
inn  young  Austin  himself. 

"Oh!"  said  Clieckley,  finishing  his  sentence — "on  toast. 
Here's  tlie  othor;  here  they  are — both," 

In  fact,  George,  too,  entered  the  house  known  as  No.  22,  and 
walked  up  the  stairs. 

Clieckley  waited  for  no  more.  He  ran  out  of  the  inn,  and  he 
called  a  cab. 

If  he  had  waited  a  little  longer  he  would  have  seen  the  new 
partner  come  out  of  the  house  and  walk  away  ;  if  he  had  followed 
him  up  the  stairs  he  would  have  seen  liim  knocking  at  the  closed 
outer  door  of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  If  he  had  knocked  at  the  door 
opposite  he  would  have  found  Mr,  Athelstan  Arundel  in  tlie  room 
with  his  own  acquaintance,  Mr.  Freddy  Carstone,  the  Cambridge 
scholar  and  the  ornament  of  their  circle  at  the  Salutation,  But, 
being  in  a  hurry,  he  jumped  to  a  conclusion,  and  called  a  cab. 

lie  drove  to  Palace  Gardens,  where  Sir  Samuel  had  his  town- 
house.  Sir  Samuel  was  still  at  dinner.  Ue  sat  down  in  the  hall, 
meekly  waiting.  After  a  while  the  service  condescended  to  ask 
if  he  wished  a  message  to  be  taken  in  to  Sir  Samuel. 

"  From  his  brother's — ^rom  Mr.  Bering's  ofiice,  please  tell  him. 
From  iiis  brother's  ofiice — on  most  important  business — most  im- 
portant— say." 
7* 


154  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Sir  Samuel  received  lilm  kindly,  made  liiin  sit  down,  and  gave 
him  a  glass  of  wine.  "  Now,"  be  said,  "  tell  me  what  it  all  means. 
My  brother  has  had  a  robbery — papers  and  certificates  and  things. 
Of  course  they  arc  stopped,  lie  won't  lose  anything.  But  it  is 
a  great  nuisance,  this  kind  of  thing." 

"lie  has  already  lost  four  months'  dividends — four  months, 
sir — on  thirty-eight  thousand  pounds.  And  do  you  really  think 
that  he  will  get  back  his  papers  ?" 

"Certainly — or  others.  They  are,  after  all,  only  vouchers. 
How  is  my  brother?" 

'*  Well,  Sir  Samuel — better  than  you'd  think  likely.  This  morn- 
ing, to  be  sure — "  He  stopped,  being  loath  to  tell  how  liis  mas- 
ter liad  lost  consciousness.  "  Well,  sir,  I've  been  thinking  that 
the  property  was  gone,  and  from  what  I  know  of  them  as  had  to 
do  with  the  job  1  thought  there  was  mighty  little  chance  of  get- 
ting it  back.  It  kept  me  awake.  Oh  !  it's  an  awful  sum.  Close 
upon  forty  thousand  pounds.  He  can  stand  that,  and  double 
that—" 

"  — and  double  that  again,"  said  Sir  Samuel,  "  I  should  hope  so." 

"Certainly,  sir.  But  it's  a  blow.  I  can  feel  for  him.  I'm 
only  a  clerk ;  but  I've  saved  a  bit,  and  put  out  a  bit,  Sir  Samuel. 
Cheese-parings,  you'd  say ;  but  I've  enjoyed  saving  it  up — oh  ! 
I've  enjoyed  it.  I  don't  think  there  is  any  pleasure  in  life  like 
saving  up — watching  it  grow  and  grow  and  grow — it  grows  like 
a  pretty  flower,  doesn't  it? — and  adding  to  it.  Ah!"  he  sighed, 
and  drank  his  glass  of  wine.  "Sir  Samuel,  if  I  was  to  lose  my 
little  savings  it  would  break  my  heart.  I'm  an  old  man,  and  so 
is  he — it  would  break  me  up,  it  would,  indeed.  Ever  since  yes- 
terday morning  I've  been  thinking  whether  anything  could  hap- 
pen to  make  me  lose  my  money.  There's  death  in  the  thought. 
Sir  Samuel — for  an  old  man  and  a  small  man  like  me  there's 
death  in  the  thought." 

"Don't  tell  anybody  where  your  investments  are,  and  lock  up 
the  papers,  Checkley.  Now,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  for 
you  ?" 

"I  want  you  to  listen  to  me  for  half  an  hour,  Sir  Samuel,  and 
to  give  me  your  advice,  for  the  business  is  too  much  for  me." 

"Go  on,  then.     I  am  listening." 

"  Very  well.  Now,  sir,  I  don't  know  if  I  shall  be  able  to  make 
my  case  clear — but  I  will  try.     I  haven't  been  about  Mr.  Dering 


THE    IVORY    GATE  155 

for  fifty  years  for  notliinj^,  I  hope.  The  case  is  this.  Nine 
years  ago,  a  man,  calling  himself  Edmnnd  Gray,  took  chambers  in 
South  Square,  Gray's  Inn — forty  pounds  a  year.  He  is  represent- 
ed as  being  an  elderly  man.  lie  has  paid  his  rent  regularly,  but 
he  visits  his  chambers  at  irregular  intervals.  Eiglit  years  ago 
there  was  a  forgery  at  your  brother's.  The  check  was  payable 
to  the  order  of  Edmund  Gray  —  mark  that.  Tlie  money  was 
paid — " 

"  I  remember.  Atlielstan  Arundel  was  accused,  or  suspected 
of  the  thing." 

"  He  was.  And  he  ran  away  to  avoid  being  arrested — remem- 
ber that.  And  he's  never  been  heard  of  since.  Well,  the  scries 
of  forgeries  by  wliich  the  shares  and  stocks  belonging  to  Mr. 
Dering  have  been  stolen  are  all  written  in  the  same  handwriting 
as  the  first,  and  are  all  carried  on  in  the  name  and  for  the  order 
of  Edmund  Gray.  That  you  would  acknowledge  in  a  moment 
if  you  saw  the  papers — there  are  the  same  lines  and  curves  of  the 
letters—" 

"  Which  proves,  I  should  say,  that  Alholstan  never  did  it." 

"Wait  a  minute.  Don't  let's  be  in  a  hurry.  The  forgers  by 
themselves  could  do  nothing.  They  wanted  some  one  in  the 
office ;  some  one  always  fibout  the  place ;  some  one  who  could  get 
at  the  safe;  some  one  who  could  get  from  the  office  what  the 
man  outside  wanted ;  some  one  to  intercept  the  letters — " 

"  Well  r 

"  That  person,  Sir  Samuel,  I  have  found." 

Sir  Samuel  sat  up.      "Von  have  found  him?" 

"  I  have.  And  here's  my  difficulty.  Because,  Sir  Samuel,  he 
is  your  brother's  new  partner;  and  unless  we  lodge  him  in  the 
jug  before  many  days  he  will  be  your  own  brother-in-law." 

Sir  Samuel  changed  color,  and  got  up  to  see  that  the  door 
behind  the  screen  was  shut.  "This  is  a  very  serious  thing  to 
say,  Checklcy — a  very  serious  thing." 

"Ob  !  I  will  make  it  plain.  First,  as  to  opportunities;  next, 
as  to  motives ;  third,  as  to  facts.  For  opportunities,  then.  Lat- 
terly, for  the  last  six  months,  he's  been  working  in  the  chief's 
office  nearly  all  day  long.  There  he  sat  at  the  little  table  be- 
tween the  windows,  just  half  turned  round  to  catch  the  light, 
with  the  open  safe  within  easy  reach  of  his  hand  when  the  chief 
wasn't  looking;  or  wlien — because  he  doesn't  always  touch  the 


156  THE    IVORY    GATE 

bell — Mr.  Dcring  would  bring  papers  into  my  ofllcc  and  leave 
him  alone — ah  !  alone — with  the  safe.  That's  for  opportunities. 
Now  for  motives.  lie's  been  engaged  for  two  years,  I  understand, 
to  a  young  lady — " 

"  To  Lady  Dering's  sister." 

"Just  so,  sir.  And,  I  believe,  until  the  unexpected  luck  of  his 
partnership,  against  the  wish  of  Lady  Dering's  family." 

"  That  is  true." 

"lie  bad  two  hiuulrcd  a  year.  And  be  had  nothing  else — no 
prospects  and  no  chances.  So  I  think  you  will  acknowledge  that 
there's  sufficient  motive  here  for  him  to  try  anything." 

"  Well,  if  poverty  is  a  motive — no  doubt  he  had  one." 

"  Poverty  was  tbe  motive.  You  couldn't  have  a  stronger 
motive.  Tbere  isn't  in  the  world  a  stronger  motive — tliough,  I 
admit,  some  young  men  who  are  poor  may  keep  honest.  I  did. 
Mr.  Austin,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  tbose  that  don't  keep  honest. 
That's  for  motive.  Now  for  facts.  Mr.  Austin  bad  nothing  to 
do  with  the  forgery  eight  years  ago;  he  was  only  an  articled 
clerk  beginning.  But  he  knew  young  Arundel,  who  did  the  thing, 
remember.  That  check  was  written  by  young  Arundel,  who  ran 
away.  The  letters  of  this  year  are  written  by  the  same  hand — 
by  your  brother-in-law.  Sir  Samuel,  by  Mr.  Athelstan  Arundel." 

"  But  he  is  gone ;  he  has  disappeared ;  nobody  knows  where 
he  is." 

Checkley  laughed.  This  was  a  moment  of  triumph.  "  He  is 
back  again,  Sir  Samuel.     I  have  seen  him." 

"  Where  ?     Athelstan  back  again  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you.  All  these  forgeries  use  the  name  of  Edmund 
Gray,  of  22  South  Square,  Gray's  Inn.  I  have  told  you  that  be- 
fore. When  the  thing  is  discovered  young  Austin  goes  off,  and 
makes  himself  mighty  busy  tracking  and  following  up,  hunting 
down,  doing  detective  work,  and  so  on.  Oh  !  who  so  busy  as 
he?  Found  out  that  Edmund  Gray  was  an  old  man,  if  you 
please;  and  this  morning  again — so  cheerful  and  lively  that  it 
does  your  heart  good — going  to  settle  it  all  in  a  day  or  two. 
Yah !  As  if  I  couldn't  see  through  his  cunning !  Why  !  I'm 
seventy-five  years  old.  I'm  up  to  every  kind  of  dodge ;  what 
will  happen  next,  unless  you  cut  in  ?  First,  we  shall  hear  that 
Mr.  Edmund  Gray  has  gone  abroad,  or  has  vanished,  or  some- 
thing.    When  he's  quite  out  of  the  way  we  shall  find  out  that 


THE    IVORY    GATE  157 

he  did  the   wliolc  thing — him  and  nobody  else.     And  then,  if 
there's  no  more  money  to  be  made  by  keeping  the  papers,  they 
will  all  come  back — from  Edmund  Gray,  penitent — oh  !    I  know." 
"But  about  Athelstan  Arundel  ?" 

"  To  be  sure.  I'm  an  old  man,  Sir  Samuel,  and  I  talk  too  much. 
Well,  I  go  most  nights  to  a  parlor  in  Ilolborn — the  Salutation 
it  is — where  the  company  is  select  and  the  liquor  good.  There 
I  saw  him  a  week  ago.  lie  was  brought  in  by  one  of  the  com- 
pany. I  knew  him  at  once,  and  he  wasn't  in  hiding.  Used  his 
own  name.  But  he  didn't  see  me.  '  No,  no,'  thinks  I.  '  Wc 
won't  give  this  away.  I  liid  my  face  behind  a  newspaper. 
He's  been  staying  in  CamberwcU  for  the  last  eight  years,  I  be- 
lieve, all  the  time." 

"  In  Camberwell  ?     Why  in  Camberwell  ?" 
"  In  bad  company — as  I  was  given  to  understand." 
"You  don't  mean  this,  Checkley?     Is  it  really  true?" 
"  It  is  perfectly  true,  Sir  Samuel.     I  have  seen  him.     lie  was 
dressed  like  a  prince — velvet  jacket  and  crimson  tie  and  white 
waistcoat.     And  he  walked  in  with  just  his  old  insolence — nose 
up,  head  back,  looking  round  as  if  we  were  not  fit  to  be  in  the 
same  room  with  him — just  as  he  used  to  do." 

"By  Jove!"  said  Sir  Samuel,  thrusting  his  liands  into  his 
pockets.  "  What  will  Hilda  say — I  mean  Lady  Dering,  say — 
when  she  hears  it  ?'' 

"There  is  more  to  hear,  Sir  Samuel — not  much  more.     But  it 
drives  the  nail  home — a  nail  in  tlieir  colHn,  I  hope  and  trust." 
"  Go  on.     Let  me  hear  all." 

"You've  caught  on,  have   you,  to  all  I  said  about  Edmund 
Gray,  of  22  South  Square — him  as  was  mentioned  eight  years 
ago — and  about  the  handwriting  being  the  same  now  as  then?" 
"  Yes." 

"  So   that  the  same  hand   which  forged   the   check   then  has 
forged  the  letters  now  ?" 
"  Quite  so." 

"I  said  then — and  I  say  now — that  young  x\rundel  forged 
that  check.  I  say  now  that  he  is  the  forger  of  these  letters,  and 
that  Austin  stood  in  with  him,  and  was  his  confidant.  What  do 
you  think  of  this?  To-night,  after  ofiice,  I  thought  I  would  go 
and  liave  a  look  at  22  South  Square.  So  I  walked  up  and  down 
on  the  other  side ;  my  eyes  are  pretty  good  still ;  I  thought  I 


158  THE    IVORY    GATE 

should,  perhaps,  sec  something  presently  over  the  way.  So  I 
did.  Who  should  coine  into  the  square,  marching  along  as  if 
the  old  place,  benchers  and  all,  belonged  to  hiin,  but  Mr.  Athcl- 
stan  Arundel !  lie  pulled  up  at  No.  22 — No.  22,  mind — Edmund 
Gray's  number;  he  walked  upstairs — I  beard  him — to  the  second 
floor — Edmund  Gray's  floor." 

"  Good  Lord  !"  cried  Sir  Samuel.  "  This  is  suspicious  with  a 
vengeance." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  haven't  done.  I  stayed  where  I  was,  wondering 
if  he  would  come  down,  and  whether  I  should  meet  him  and  ask 
him  what  he  was  doing  with  Edmund  Gray.  And  then  I  was 
richly  rewarded — oh  !  rich  was  the  rewartl — for  who  should  come 
into  the  square  but  young  Austin  himself!  lie,  too,  went  up  the 
stairs  of  No.  22.  And  there  I  left  them  both,  and  came  away — 
came  to  put  the  case  into  your  hands." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"I  want  you  to  advise  me.  What  shall  I  do?  There  is  my 
case  complete — I  don't  suppose  you  want  a  more  complete  case 
— for  any  court  of  justice." 

"  Well — as  for  that — I'm  not  a  lawyer.  As  a  City  man,  if  a 
clerk  of  mine  was  in  such  a  suspicious  position  as  young  Austin 
I  should  ask  him  for  full  explanations.  You've  got  no  actual 
proof,  you  sec,  that  he,  or  Athelstan  either,  did  the  thing." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Sir  Samuel.  I'm  only  a  clerk,  and  you're 
a  great  City  knight,  but  I  don't  know  what  better  proof  you 
want.  Don't  I  see  young  Austin  pretendj^ng  not  to  know  who 
Edmund  Gray  is,  and  then  going  up  to  his  chambers  to  meet  his 
pal,  Athelstan  Arundel?  Ain't  that  proof?  Don't  I  tell  you  that 
the  sitme  hand  had  been  at  work  in  both  forgeries?  Isn't  that 
hand  young  Arundel's?" 

"  Checklcy,  I  see  that  you  are  greatly  interested  in  this 
matter — " 

"  I  would  give — ah  ! — twenty  pounds — yes,  twenty  hard-earned 
pounds — to  see  those  two  young  gentlemen  in  the  dock — where 
they  shall  be — where  they  shall  be,"  he  repeated.  His  trembling 
voice,  cracked  with  old  age,  seemed  unequally  wedded  to  the  ma- 
lignity of  his  words  and  his  expression. 

"One  of  these  young  gentlemen,"  said  Sir  Samuel,  "is  my 
brother-in-law.  The  other,  unless  this  business  prevents,  will 
be  my  brother-in-law   before  many  days.     You  will,  therefore, 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


159 


understand  that  my  endeavors  will  be  to  keep  tlicm  both  out  of 

the  dock." 

"The  job  will  be  only  half  complete  without;  but  still— to  sec 
yountr  Austin  drove  out  of  the  place  with  disgrace— same  as  the 
other^'onc  was—  Why,  that  should  be  something— something  to 
think  about  afterwards." 

Checkley  went  away.  Sir  Samuel  sat  thinking  what  was  best 
to  be  done.  Like  everybody  else,  he  quite  believed  in  Athelstan's 
guilt.  Granted  that  fact,  he  saw  clearly  that  there  was  another 
very  black-looking  case  against  him  and  against  George  Austin. 
What  should  be  done?     He  would  consult  his  wife.      He  did  so. 

"  What  will  Elsie  say?"  she  asked.  "  Yet,  sooner  or  later,  she 
must  be  told.  I  suppose  that  will  be  my  task.  But  she  can 
wait  a  little.  Do  you  go  to-morrow  morning  to  Mr.  Bering,  and 
tell  him.     The  sooner  he  knows  the  better." 

You  now  understand  why  Mr.  Checkley  was  so  joyous  when  he 
arrived  at  the  Salutation,  and  why  he  proposed  that  toast. 

In  the  morning  Sir  Samuel  saw  his  brother,  and  whispered  in 
his  ear  the  whole  of  the  case  as  prepared  and  drawn  up  by 
Checkley.  "  What  do  you  say  ?"  he  asked,  when  he  had  con- 
cluded. 

"  I  say  nothing."  Mr.  Dering  had  heard  all  the  points  brought 
out,  one  after  the  other,  without  the  least  emotion.  "  There  is 
nothing  to  be  said." 

"  But,  my  dear  brother,  the  evidence  1" 

"There  is  no  evidence.  It  is  all  supposition.  If  Athelstan 
committed  the  first  forgery — there  is  no  evidence  to  show  that 
he  did ;  if  he  has  been  living  all  these  years  a  life  of  profligacy 
in  EnMand — I  have  evidence  to  the  contrary  in  my  own  posses- 
sion ;  if  he  was  tempted  by  poverty ;  if  young  Austin  was  also 
tempted  by  poverty ;  if  the  two  together — or  either  separately — 
could  undertake,  under  temptation,  risks  so  terrible —  You  see, 
the  whole  case  is  built  up  on  an  '  if.' " 

"Yet  it  holds  together  at  every  point.  It  is  a  perfect  case. 
Who  else  could  do  it  ?  Checkley  certainly  could  not.  That  old 
man — that  old  servant." 

"I  af^ree  with  you,  Checkley  could  not  do  it.  Not  because  he 
is  too  old — a<Te  has  nothing  to  do  with  crime — nor  because  he  is 
an  old  servant.     He  could  not  do  it,  because  he  is  not  clever 


160  THE    IVOUY    GATE 

enough.  This  kind  of  thing  wants  grasp  and  vision.  Chcckloy 
hasn't  got  either.  He  might  be  a  confederate,  lie  may  have 
stopped  the  letters.  He  is  miserly — he  might  be  tempted  by 
money.     Yet  I  do  not  think  it  possible.'' 

"No;  I  cannot  believe  that,"  said  Sir  Samuel. 

"Yet  it  is  quite  as  difficult  to  believe  such  a  thing  of  young 
Austin.  Oh !  I  know  everything  is  possible.  He  belongs  to  a 
good  family;  he  has  his  own  people  to  think  of;  he  is  engaged; 
he  has  always  led  a  blameless  life.  Yet — yet — everything  is 
possible." 

"  I  have  known  cases  in  the  City  where  the  blameless  seeming 
was  only  a  pretence  and  a  cloak — most  deplorable  cases,  I  assure 
you — the  cloak  to  hide  a  profligate  life." 

*'  I  think,  if  that  were  so,  I  should  not  be  deceived.  Outward 
signs  in  such  cases  are  not  wanting.  1  know  the  face  of  the 
profligate,  open  or  concealed.  Yuung  Austin  presents  no  sign  of 
anything  but  a  regular  and  blameless  life.  For  all  these  reasons, 
I  say,  we  ought  to  believe  him  incapable  of  any  dishonorable 
action.  But  I  liave  been  in  [)racticc  for  fifty  years — fifty  years. 
During  this  long  period  I  know  not  how  many  cases — what  are 
called  family  cases — have  been  in  my  hands.  I  have  had  in  this 
room  the  trembling  old  profligate  of  seventy,  ready  to  pay  any 
price  rather  than  let  the  thing  be  known  to  his  old  wife,  who 
believes  in  liim,  and  his  daughters,  who  worship  him.  I  have 
had  the  middle-aged  man  of  standing  in  the  City  imploring  mc 
to  buy  back  the  paper — at  any  price — which  would  stamp  him 
with  infamy.  I  have  had  the  young  man  on  his  knees  begging 
me  never  to  let  his  father  know  the  forgery,  the  theft,  the  vil- 
lainy, the  seduction — what  not.  And  I  have  had  women  of 
every  age  sitting  in  that  chair,  confessing  their  wickedness,  which 
they  do,  for  the  most  part,  with  hard  faces  and  cold  eyes — not, 
like  the  men,  with  shame  and  tears.  The  men  fall,  being  tempted 
by  want  of  money,  which  means  loss  of  pride  and  self-respect 
and  position  and  comfort.  There  ought  to  have  been  a  clause 
in  the  Litany,  'From  want  of  money  at  all  ages,  and  on  all  oc- 
casions, good  Lord,  deliver  us.' " 

"True — most  true,"  said  Sir  Samuel.  "  '  From  want  of  money  ' 
— I  shall  say  that  the  next  time  I  go  to  church — '  from  want  of 
money  at  all  ages,  and  particularly  when  one  is  getting  on  in 
years,  and  has  a  title  to  keep  up,  good  Lord,  deliver  us.'     Very 


THE    IVOnr    GATE 


IGl 


good,  indeed,  brother.  I  shall  quote  that  in  the  City.  To-morrow 
I  have  to  make  a  speech  at  the  Helmet  Makers'  Company.  I 
shall  quote  that  very  remarkable  saying  of  yours." 

Mr.  Dering  smiled  gravely.  "A  simple  saying,  indeed.  The 
greatest  temptation  of  any  is  the  want  of  money.  Why,  there  is 
nothing  that  the  average  man  will  not  do  rather  than  be  without 
money?  lie  is  helpless;  he  is  a  slave;  he  is  in  contempt— with- 
out money.  Austin,  you  tell  mo,  was  tempted  by  want  of  money. 
I  think  not.  He  was  poor;  he  had  enough  to  keep  him ;  he  was 
frugal;  he  had  simple  wants;  he  had  never  felt  the  want  of 
money.  No— I  do  not  think  that  he  was  tempted  by  poverty. 
Everything  is  possible — this  is  possible.  But,  brother,  silence. 
If  you  speak  about  this,  you  may  injure  the  young  man,  suppos- 
ing him  to  be  innocent.  If  he  is  guilty,  you  will  put  him  on  his 
gu'ard.  And,  mind,  I  shall  show  no  foolish  mercy — none— when 
we  find  the  guilty  parties.      All  the  more  reason,  therefore,  for 

silence." 

Sir  Samuel  promised.  But  he  had  parted  with  the  secret— ho 
had  given  it  into  the  keeping  of  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHO    IS    EDMUND    GRAY? 


Atiielstan  laughed  on  the  first  hearing  of  the  thing — it  was 
on  the  Tuesday  evening,  the  day  after  the  discovery.  George  was 
dining  with  him.  He  laughed  both  loud  and  long,  and  with  some 
bitterness.  "So  the  notes  were  in  the  safe  all  along,  were  tliey  ? 
Who  put  them  there?  '  I,'  says  old  Chccklcy,  '  with  my  pretty 
fingers — I  put  them  there.'  " 

"  As  soon  as  this  other  business  is  over  the  chief  must  tell  your 
mother,  Athelstan.  It  ought  to  come  from  her.  I  shall  say  noth- 
ing to  Elsie  just  yet.  She  shall  learn  that  you  are  home  again, 
and  that  your  name  is  clear  again,  at  the  same  moment." 

"  I  confess  that  I  should  be  pleased  to  make  them  all  confess 
that  their  suspicions  were  liasty  and  unfounded.  At  the  same 
time,  I  did  wrong  to  go  away — I  ought  to  have  stuck  to  my  post. 


162  THE    IVOUY    GATE 

As  for  this  other  business,  one  tliinks  with  something  like  satis- 
faction of  the  wise  old  lawyer  losing  forty  thousand  pounds.  It 
made  him  sit  up,  did  it?  To  sit  up  indicates  the  presence  of 
some  emotion.  Lost  forty  thousand  pounds!  And  he  who 
holds  so  strongly  to  the  sanctity  of  property  !  Forty  thousand 
pounds  !" 

"  Wc  shall  recover  the  certificates,  or  get  new  ones  in  their 
place." 

*'  1  suppose  so.  Shares  can't  be  lost  or  stolen,  really.  Mean- 
time there  may  be  difficulty,  and  you  must  try  to  find  the  forg- 
er. Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  Chcckley  is  the  only  man  who 
Las  had  control  of  the  letters  and  access  at  all  times  to  the 
office  r 

"  It  has." 

*'  Checkley  is  not  exactly  a  fox — he  is  a  jackal ;  therefore  he 
docs  somebody's  dirty  work  for  him  at  a  wage.  That  is  the  way 
with  the  jackal,  you  know.  Eight  years  ago  he  tried  to  make  a 
little  pile  by  a  little  forgery — not  the  forgery,  I  am  sure — he  did 
jackal ;  but  he  forgot  that  notes  are  numbered,  so  he  put  them 
back.  Now,  his  friend,  the  forger,  who  is,  no  doubt,  a  begging- 
letter  writer,  has  devised  an  elaborate  scheme  for  getting  hold  of 
shares — ignorant  that  they  are  of  no  value." 

"  Well,  he  has  drawn  the  dividends  for  four  months." 

"That  is  something,  you  see;  but  he  hoped  to  get  hold  of 
thirty-eight  thousand  pounds.  It's  the  same  hand,  you  say,  at 
work.     You  are  quite  sure  of  that?" 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it.  How  could  two  different  hands 
present  exactly  the  same  curious  singularities  ?" 

"  And  all  the  letters,  checks,  and  transfers  for  the  same  person. 
"What  is  his  name  ?" 

"One  Edmund  Gray,  resident  at  22  South  Square,  Gray's 
Inn." 

"  No.  22  ?  Oh  !  that  is  where  Freddy  Carstone  lives.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  the  nomme  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"  I  have  been  in  search  of  information  about  him.  lie  is  de- 
scribed by  the  landlord  of  the  rooms  and  by  his  laundress  as  an 
elderly  gentleman." 

"  Elderly.     Checkley  is  elderly." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  of  Checkley,  of  course.  But  somehow  tho 
indications  don't  fit.     My  informants  speak  of  a  gentleman.    No- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  163 

body  at  his  kindliest  and  most  benevolent  mood  could  possibly 
call  Chccklcy  a  gentleman," 

"  The  word  '  gentleman,' "  said  Athelstan, "  is  clastic.  It  stretch- 
es with  the  consumer.  It  is  like  the  word  *  truth  '  to  a  politician. 
It  varies  from  man  to  man.  You  cannot  lay  down  any  defini- 
tion of  the  word  'gentleman.'  Do  you  know  nothing  more  about 
him  ?" 

"  A  little,  lie  has  held  this  set  of  chambers  for  nine  years, 
and  he  pays  his  rent  regularly  before  the  day  it  falls  due.  Also, 
I  called  upon  him  the  other  day  when  his, laundress  was  at  work, 
and  wrote  a  note  to  him  at  his  table.  The  room  is  full  of  Social- 
ist books  and  pamphlets,  lie  is,  therefore,  presumably  a  Social- 
ist leader." 

"  I  know  all  these  leaders,"  said  Athelstan  the  journalist.  "  I've 
made  the  acquaintance  of  most  for  business  purposes.  I've  had 
to  read  up  the  Socialist  literature,  and  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  their  chiefs.  There  is  no  Edmund  Gray  among  them.  Stay — 
there  is  a  Socialist  letter  in  the  Times  of  to-day — surely —  Wait- 
er"— they  were  dining  at  the  club  where  Athelstan  was  a  tem- 
porary member — "  let  me  have  the  Times  of  to-day.  Yes,  I 
thought  so.  Here  is  a  letter  from  the  Socialist  point  of  view 
signed  by  Edmund  Gray — and — and — yes — look  here,  it  is  most 
curious — with  the  same  address — 22  South  Square — a  long  letter, 
in  small  print,  and  put  in  the  supplement;  but  it's  there.  See; 
signed  Edmund  Gray.     What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  forger?" 

George  read  the  letter  through  carefully.  It  was  a  whole  col- 
umn long,  and  it  was  in  advocacy  of  Socialism  pure  and  simple. 
One  was  surprised  that  the  editor  had  allowed  it  to  appear.  Prob- 
ably he  was  influenced  by  the  tone  of  it,  which  was  generous, 
cheerful,  and  optimistic.  Tlierc  was  not  the  slightest  ring  of  bit- 
terness about  it.  "  We  who  look,"  it  said,  "for  the  coming  dis- 
appearance of  property,  not  by  violence  and  revolution,  but  by  a 
rapid  process  of  decay  and  wasting  away,  regard  the  present  po- 
sition of  the  holders  of  property  with  the  greatest  satisfaction. 
Everywhere  there  are  encouraging  signs.  Money  which  formerly 
obtained  five  per  cent,  now  yields  no  more  than  half  that  rate. 
Shares  which  were  formerly  paying  ten,  twelve,  and  twenty  per 
cent,  are  now  falling  steadily.  Companies  started  every  dav  in 
the  despairing  hope  of  the  old  great  gains  fail,  and  are  wound  up. 
Land,  which  the  old  wars  forced  up  to  an  extraordinary  value,  has 


164  •  THE    IVORY    GATE 

now  sunk  so  enormously  that  many  landlords  have  lost  three 
fourths  and  even  more  of  their  income.  All  those  enterprises 
which  require  the  employment  of  many  hands — as  docks,  railways, 
printing-houses,  manufactories  of  all  kinds — are  rapidly  falling 
into  the  condition  of  being  able  to  pay  no  dividend  at  all,  because 
the  pay  of  the  men  and  the  maintenance  of  the  plant  absorb  all. 
When  that  point  is  reached  the  whole  capital — the  millions  em- 
barked in  these  enterprises — will  be  lost  forever.  The  stock  can- 
not be  sold,  because  it  produces  nothing — it  has  vanished.  In 
other  words,  sir,  what  1  desire  to  point  out  to  your  readers  is  that 
while  thev  are  discussing  or  denouncing  Socialism,  the  one  condi- 
tion which  makes  Socialism  possible  and  necessary  is  actually  com- 
ing upon  the  world — namely,  the  destruction  of  capital.  Why 
have  not  men  in  all  ages  combined  to  work  for  themselves? 
Because  capital  has  prevented  them.  When  there  is  no  capital 
left  to  employ  them,  to  bully  them,  to  make  laws  against  their 
combinations,  or  to  bribe  them,  they  will  have  to  work  for 
themselves  or  starve.  The  thing  will  be  forced  u\)on  them. 
Work  will  be  a  necessity  for  everybody  ;  there  will  be  no  more  a 
privileged  class;  all  who  work  will  be  paid  at  ecjual  rates  for 
their  work;  those  who  refuse  to  work  will  be  suffered  to  starve." 
The  letter  went  on  to  give  illustrations  of  the  enormous  losses  in 
capital  during  the  last  fifteen  years,  when  the  shrinkage  began.  It 
concluded  :  "  For  my  own  part,  I  confess  that  the  prospect  of  the 
future  fills  me  with  satisfaction.  No  more  young  men  idle,  middle- 
aged  men  pampered,  and  old  men  looking  back  to  a  wasted  life ; 
nobody  trying  to  save,  because  the  future  of  the  old,  the  widows, 
the  children,  the  decayed,  and  the  helpless  will  be  a  charge  upon 
the  strong  and  the  young — that  is,  upon  the  juve7ies,  the  workers 
of  the  state.  No  more  robbery ;  no  more  unproductive  classes. 
Do  not  think  that  there  will  be  no  more  men  of  science  and  of 
learning.  These,  too,  will  be  considered  workers.  Or  no  more 
poets,  dramatists,  artists,  novelists.  These,  too,  will  be  consid- 
ered workers.  And  do  not  fear  the  coming  of  that  time.  It  is 
stealing  upon  us  as  surely,  as  certainly,  as  the  decay  of  the  powers 
in  old  age.  Doubt  not  that  when  it  comes  we  shall  have  become 
well  prepared  for  it.  Those  of  us  who  are  old  may  lament  that 
we  shall  not  live  to  see  the  day  when  the  last  shred  of  property 
is  cast  into  the  common  hoard.  Those  of  us  who  are  young  have 
all  the  more  reason  to  rejoice  in  their  youth,  because  they  may 


THE    IVORY    GATE  1G5 

live  to  sec  the  great  day  of  humanity  dawn  at  last.— Edmund 
Gray,  22  South  Square,  Gray's  Imi." 
"You  have  read  this?"  asked  George. 

"Yes;  I  read  it  this  morning.  Letter  of  a  dreamer,  lie  sees 
what  might  happen,  and  thinks  that  it  will  happen.  Capital  is 
too  strong  yet." 

"  Is  this  the  letter  of  a  forger,  a  conspirator,  a  thief  ?" 
"  It  does  not  strike  me  iu  that  light.     Yet  many  great  thieves 
are  most  amiable  in  their  private  lives.     There  is  no  reason  why 
tills  dreamer  of  dreams  should  not  be  also  a  forger  and  a  thief. 
Still,  the  case  would  be  remarkable,  I  admit.'" 

"  Can  there  be  two  Edmund  Grays — father  and  son  ?" 
"  Can  there  be  a  clerk  to  Edmund  Gray,  impudently  using  his 
master's  name,  and  ready  to  open  any  letter  that  may  come? 
Consider— clerk  is  a  friend  of  old  Chccklcy.  Clerk  invents  the 
scheme.  Chccklcy  does  his  share.  However,  we  can  easily  find 
out  something  more  about  the  man,  because  my  old  friend  Fred- 
dy Carstone  has  chambers  on  the  same  tioor.  We  will  walk  over 
after  dinner,  and  if  Freddy  happens  to  be  sober— he  is  always 
pleasantly,  not  stuj)idly,  drunk— he  will  tell  us  what  he  knows 
about  his  neighbor." 

"  I  ought  to  see  Elsie  this  evening,  but  this  is  more  impor- 
tant." 

"  Much  more.  Send  her  a  telegram.  "Waiter,  we  will  take 
coffee  here.  So  you  have  got  the  conduct  of  the  case.  What 
has  Chccklcy  got?" 

"  Nothing.  I  believe  he  is  jealous  of  mc.  I  don't  know  why. 
But  it  docs  not  matter  what  an  old  man  like  that  thinks." 

"  Even  an  old  man  can  strike  a  match  and  light  a  fire.  Chcck- 
lcy is  a  maliixnant  old  man.  He  is  quite  capable  of  cliarging  you 
with  the  job.  I  wonder  he  hasn't  done  it  by  this  time.  Remem- 
ber my  case,  old  man."  Athclstan's  face  darkened  at  the  recol- 
lection. "  Dirt  sticks  sometimes.  Look  at  me.  I  am  smirched 
all  over." 

"His  manner  was  very  odd  this  morning  —  insolent  and 
strange.  He  began  to  talk  mysteriously  of  the  ingratitude  of 
the  forger — " 

"  Why,  he's  actually  going  to  do  it !  Don't  you  sec — he  means 
that  you  are  the  forger  ?" 

"Oh!  docs  he?     Very  well,  Athelstan  " — George  finished  his 


1G6  THE    IVORY    GATE 

coffee,  and  got  up — "  the  sooner  we  find  out  the  mystery  of  this 
Edmund  Gray  the  better.     Let  us  seek  your  tipsy  scholar." 

They  walked  from  Piccadilly  to  Ilolborn,  turnini^  the  thing 
over,  and  making  .1  dozen  surmises.  Edmund  Gray,  twins  ;  Ed- 
mund Gray,  father  and  son — father  wanting  to  destroy  property, 
a  Socialist;  son  wanting  to  steal  property,  an  individualist;  Ed- 
mund Gray,  cousins — one  the  mild  j)hilosopher,  rejoicing  in  the 
decay  of  wealth,  the  other  a  bandit,  a  robber,  and  a  conspirator; 
Edmund  Gray,  fatiicr  and  daughter — the  young  lady  of  the  ad- 
vanced type,  who  has  not  only  thrown  over  her  religion,  but  her 
morals  also;  Edmund  Gray,  master  and  clerk;  Edmund  Gray 
under  domination  of  a  villain  ;  there  was  in  the  situation  a  noble 
chance  for  the  imagination.  George  showed  a  capacity  unsus- 
pected ;  he  should  have  been  a  novelist.  The  hypotheses  were 
beautiful  and  admirable;  they  wanted  one  thing — vraiscviblance ; 
one  felt,  even  while  advancing  and  defending  them,  that  they 
were  impossible. 

They  turned  into  the  gateway  of  the  inn,  and  walked  down  the 
passage  into  the  square.  "Look!"  Athelstan  caught  his  com- 
panion by  the  wrist.      "  Who  is  that?" 

"  Checkley  iiimself ;  he  is  coming  out  of  No.  22  !" 

"  Yes,  out  of  22.  What  is  he  doing  there  !  Eh  ?  What  has 
he  been  doing  there  ?" 

It  was  Checkley.  The  old  man,  walking  feebly,  with  bent  head, 
came  out  from  the  entrance  of  No.  22,  and  turned  northward  into 
Field  Court.  They  waited,  watching  him,  until  he  left  the  square. 
"  Wiiat  is  he  doing  there  ?"  asked  George  again.  "  Come.  Ed- 
mund Gray  must  be  at  home.     Let  us  go  up." 

They  found  the  outer  door  shut.  Tlicy  knocked  with  their 
sticks  ;  there  was  no  answer. 

"  What  was  he  doing  here  ?"  asked  Athelstan. 

The  scholar's  door  stood  open.  The  scholar  himself  was  per- 
fectly sober,  and  welcomed  them  joyously  and  boisterously. 

"  We  are  here  on  business,  Freddy,"  said  Athelstan. 

"  You  are  here  to  sit  and  talk  and  drink  whiskey-and-soda  till 
midnight — till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  is  not  until  two  in 
the  morning  that  you  can  get  the  full  flavor  of  the  inn.  It  is  like 
a  college  then — monastic,  shut  off  from  the  world,  peaceful — " 

"  Business  first,  then.  You  know  your  neighbor,  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray  ?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE / 


167 


"Certainly.  Wc  exchange  the  compliments  of  the  season  and 
the  news  of  the  weather  when  we  meet  on  tlic  stairs.  lie  has 
been  in  here,  but  not  often.  A  man  who  drinks  nothing  is  your 
true  damper.  That,  believe  nie,  and  no  other,  was  the  veritable 
skeleton  at  the  feast." 

"Our  business  concerns  your  neighbor,  Mr.  Edmund  Gray. 
We  want  you  to  tell  us  what  you  know  about  him." 
"Go  on,  then.     Question,  and  I  will  answer  if  I  can." 
"  Docs  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  live  at  these  chambers  ?" 
"  No.     lie  may  sometimes  sleep  in  them,  but  I  should  say  not 
often.     He  calls  at  irregular  intervals.     Sometimes  in  the  after- 
noon, sometimes  in  the  morning,  sometimes  not  for  several  weeks 
together,     lie  is  most  uncertain." 
"  Do  many  people  call  upon  him  ?" 
"  No  one  ever  calls  upon  him." 

"  Does  he  keep  clerks  ?  Does  he  carry  on  an  extensive  corre- 
spondence?" 

"  I  have  never  heard  the  postman  knock  at  his  door." 
"  Has  he  a  son  or  a  brother,  or  anything  ?" 
"  I  don't  know.     He  may  have  these  hindrances,  but  they  arc 
not  apparent." 

"  What  is  his  occupation  or  trade?" 

"Socialist.  He  is  athirst  for  the  destruction  of  property. 
Meantime,  I  believe,  he  lives  on  his  own.  Perhaps  his  will  be 
spared  to  the  end.  He  is  an  old  gentleman  of  pleasant  manners 
and  of  benevolent  aspect.  The  old  women  beg  of  him;  the 
children  ask  him  the  time  ;  the  people  who  have  lost  their  way 
apply  to  him.  He  dreams  all  the  time  ;  he  lives  in  a  world  im- 
possible. Oh  !  quite  impossible.  Why,  in  a  world  all  Socialist 
I  myself  should  be  impossible.  They  wouldn't  have  me.  My 
old  friend  told  me  the  other  day  that  I  should  not  be  tolerated. 
They  would  kill  me.  All  because  I  do  no  work  —  or  next  to 
none." 

George  looked  at  Athelstan.  "  Wc  are  farther  off  than  ever," 
he  said. 

"  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  believes  that  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  is 
a  kind  of  hive  where  everybody  has  got  to  work  with  zeal,  and 
where  nobody  owns  anything.     Also  he  thinks  that  it  is  close  at 
hand,  which  makes  him  a  very  liappy  old  gentleman." 
"  This  can't  be  Cbcckley,"  said  George. 


168  TUE    IVORY    GATE 

"  It  would  seem  not,"  Athelstan  replied.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
another  old  man  up  here  —  wc  saw  liim  coming  out  just  now  — 
one  Chcckley,  a  lawyer's  clerk  ?" 

"  No  ;  not  up  here.  There  is  an  elderly  person — a  party — of 
the  name  who  uses  the  parlor  of  the  Salutation,  where  I  myself 
sometimes  —  one  must  relax ;  Porson  loved  a  tavern,  so  did 
Johnson — I  myself,  I  say,  sometimes  forget  that  I  used  to  belong 
to  the  combination  room,  and  sit  with  Checkiey  and  his  com- 
panions. But  1  do  not  think  he  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Gray.  As 
well  call  the  verger  the  friend  of  the  bishop.  Mr.  Cray  is  a 
gentleman  and  a  scholar,  lie  is  a  man  of  generous  instincts  and 
culture,     lie  could  not  be  a  friend  of  Checklcy's." 

"  Yet  Checkiey  came  out  of  this  staircase." 

They  talked  of  other  things;  they  talked  till  midnight.  When 
they  came  away  tlie  scholar  was  at  his  best;  one  more  glass  — 
which  he  took  after  they  left — would  have  turned  the  best  into 
the  worst. 

"  We  are  as  far  o(T  as  before,"  said  George. 

"  No — we  are  so  much  the  nearer  that  we  know  who  Edmund 
Gray  is  not.  He  is  not  Checkiey.  lie  has  no  clerks,  lie  lias 
no  visitors.  He  comes  seldom.  George,  this  looks  to  me  sus- 
picious. We  met  Chcckley  stealing  out  of  the  door.  Why  does 
Edmund  Gray  keep  these  chambers?  No  business  done  there; 
no  letters  brought  there  ;  no  callers  ;  the  man  does  not  live  there. 
The  Socialism  may  be  a  blind.  Why  does  the  man  keep  on  these 
chambers  ?" 

Meantime  at  the  Salutation  the  usual  company  was  assembled. 
"  I  fear,"  said  the  barrister,  "  that  wc  shall  not  have  our  friend 
the  scholar  here  this  evening.  As  I  came  down  the  stairs  I  saw 
liim  opening  his  door  to  two  gentlemen — young  gentlemen.  He 
will  display  his  wonted  hospitality  upon  them  this  evening  in- 
stead." He  sighed,  and  called  for  the  glass  of  old  and  mild 
mixed,  which  was  all  he  could  afford.  Had  the  scholar  been 
with  them,  certainly  there  would  have  been  a  nobler  and  a  costlier 
glass.     He  took  up  the  morning  paper,  and  began  to  read  it. 

The  conversation  went  on  slowly  and  with  jerks.  A  dull  con- 
versation ;  a  conversation  of  men  without  ideas;  a  day-before- 
yesterday  conversation — the  slow  exchange  of  short,  solid  sen- 
tences taken  from   the  paper,  or  overheard   and  adopted.     Wc 


THE     IVORY    GATE  169 

sometimes  praise  the  old  tavern  life,  and  we  regret  the  tavern 
talk.  We  need  not ;  it  was  dull,  gross,  ignorant,  and  flat ;  it  was 
common[)Iace  and  conventional  ;  because  it  was  so  dull  the  men 
were  fain  to  sing  songs  and  to  propose  sentiments,  and  to  drink 
more  than  was  good  for  them.  Why  and  when  do  men  drink 
more  than  is  good  for  them  ?  First,  when  and  because  things  are 
desperately  dull ;  there  is  nothing  to  interest  them ;  give  them 
animation,  thoughts,  amusements,  and  they  will  not  begin  to 
drink.  When  they  have  begun,  they  will  go  on.  When  they 
have  arrived  at  a  certain  stage,  let  them  drink  as  fast  as  they  can, 
and  so  get  out  of  the  way,  because  they  will  never  mend,  and  they 
only  cumber  the  earth.  Here  is,  you  see,  a  complete  solution  — 
a  short  solution — of  the  whole  drink  question.  It  will  not  be 
accepted,  because  people  like  a  long  solution — a  three-column 
solution. 

The  barrister  lifted  his  head.  "  There  is  a  letter  here,"  he 
said,  interrupting  the  ex-M.P.,  who  was  clearing  tl)e  way  for  what 
he  called  an  argument  by  an  introduction  in  the  usual  form. 
"  While  on  the  one  hand,  gentlemen,  I  am  free  to  confess — " 

"  There  is  a  letter  here,"  he  repeated,  in  a  louder  voice — the 
barrister  was  now  old,  but  he  could  still  assume  at  times  the 
masterful  manner  of  counsel  before  the  court — "  which  should  be 
read.     It  is  a  letter  on  Socialism." 

"Ugh  !"  said  the  money-lender.  "  Socialism  ?  They  want  to 
destroy  property.     Socialism  1     Don't  tell  me,  sir." 

"  It  is  a  dream  of  what  might  be — a  noble — a  generous  letter." 
He  looked  round  him.  In  their  dull  and  fishy  eyes  there  was  no 
gleam  or  sparkle  of  response.  "  I  forgot,"  he  said  ;  "you  cannot 
be  interested  in  such  a  letter.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir."  lie 
bowed  with  great  courtesy  to  the  ex-M.P.  "I  interrupted  your 
valuable  observations.  AVe  shall  listen,  I  am  sure,  with  —  the  — 
greatest — "    lie  buried  his  head  in  the  paper  again. 

The  legislator  began  again.  "  As  I  was  a-saying,  gentlemen, 
when  I  was  interrupted,  on  the  subject  of  education  and  the  rate- 
payers, being  a  ratepayer  myself,  as  we  all  are,  and  having  our 
taxes  to  pay,  which  is  the  only  advantage  we  ever  get  from  beino" 
a  ratepayer,  while  on  the  one  hand  I  am  free  to  confess — " 

"Why!"  the  barrister  interrupted  once  again,  "this  letter  is 
from  a  man  on  our  staircase — No.  22" — Checkley  started — "an 
acquaintance  of  mine,  if  I  can  call  hiio  so,  and  of  our  friend  the 


IVO  THE    IVORY    GATE 

scholar.  A  very  able  man,  now  soinewliat  in  years.  By  name 
Edmund  Gray." 

"  What  ?"  said  Checkley.  "  Edmund  Gray  ?  You  know  Ed- 
mund Gray  ?" 

"Certainly.  I  have  known  him  this  nine  years.  Ever  since 
he  has  been  in  the  inn." 

"  W-w-what  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?"  Checkley  stammered  in  his 
eagerness. 

"  A  very  good  sort  of  a  man.     AVliy  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  want  to  know  for  his  advantage — oh  !  yes — yes — for  his 
advantage." 

"  Yes."  The  barrister  retreated  to  his  paper.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he 
added,  "  quite  so." 

"  For  liis  advantage,"  Checkley  repeated.  "  Robert,  I  think  the 
gentleman  would  take  a  tumbler,  if  you  will  bring  it — hot,  Ilobert 
— strong — with  lemon  and  sugar — a  large  rummer,  Robert." 

The  barrister's  head  behind  the  paper  was  observed  to  tremble. 

Robert  returned  with  his  rummer,  the  glass  spoon  tinkling  an 
invitation.  Dinner  liad  been  but  a  sorry  affair  that  day — a  stop- 
gap— insufficient  in  bulk;  the  tempted  man  felt  a  yearning  that 
could  not  be  resisted.  He  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  took  the 
glass  and  tasted  it.     Then  turning  to  Checkley, 

"  You  have  purchased  my  speech,  sir.  You  were  asking  mc 
about  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.     What  do  you  wish  to  know  1" 

"  Everything — his  business,  his  private  life — anything." 

"As  for  his  business,  he  has  none;  he  is  a  gentleman  living 
on  liis  means — like  myself;  but  his  means  arc  larger  than  my 
own  ;  he  has  a  residence  elsewhere — I  don't  know  where  ;  he  uses 
his  chambers  but  little ;  he  has  a  collection  of  books  there,  and 
he  keeps  them  for  purposes  of  study." 

"  Does  he  call  there  every  day  ?" 

"  No.  Only  at  irregular  times.  Sometimes  not  for  many 
weeks  together." 

"  Has  he  got  any  friends  ?" 

"  I  should  say  that  he  has  no  friends  at  all — at  least  none  that 
come  to  the  inn.  I  have  never  heard  or  seen  any  one  in  his 
room.  A  quiet  man.  No  slammer.  An  excellent  man  to  have 
on  the  staircase.  No  trampler;  doesn't  tramp  up  and  down  like 
an  elephant.     Isn't  brought  home  drunk." 

"  What  does  he  look  like  ?" 


TUE    IVORY    GATE 


171 


"  lie  is  .1  man  advanced  in  years — perhaps  seventy ;  a  good- 
looking  man  —  very  cheerful  countenance;  tall  and  well  set  up 
still ;  wears  a  long  frock-coat.  And  that,  I  believe,  is  all  I  know 
about  him." 

"  That's  all  you've  got  to  tell  nic,  is  it  ?" 

"That  is  all,  Mr.  Checkley.  Except  that  he  has  written  a  very 
remarkable  letter  to  the  Times  of  this  morning." 

"  Well,  sir,  it  isn't  much  for  your  rum-and-watcr,  let  me  tell 
you." 

The  barrister  rose,  and  poured  the  half-glass  that  remained  into 
the  cinders.  "  Then  let  mc  drink  no  more  than  ray  information 
was  worth,"  he  said  ;  and  at  the  sight  of  so  much  magnanimity 
the  broad  earth  trembled  and  Mr.  Checkley  sat  aghast. 

The  ex-statesman  cleared  his  throat  and  began  again.  "After 
the  third  interruption,  gentlemen,  I  may  hope  for  a  hearing. 
While,  therefore,  on  the  one  hand — " 


CIIArTER  XYII 

THE     VOICE      OF     DUTY 


Klsie,  in  her  studio,  was  at  work.  She  was  painting  a  fancy 
portrait.  You  have  seen  how,  before  her  interview  with  Mr. 
l)ering,  she  transformed  him  from  a  liard  and  matter-of-fact 
lawyer  into  a  genial,  benevolent  old  gentleman.  She  was  now 
elaborating  this  transformation.  It  is  a  delightful  process,  known 
to  every  portrait-painter,  whereby  a  face,  faithfully  represented,  be- 
comes the  face  of  another  person,  or  the  face  as  it  might  be,  so 
that  a  hard  and  keen  face,  such  as  Mr.  Bering's,  may  become  a 
face  ennobled  with  spiritual  elevation,  benevolence,  charity,  and 
kindness  of  heart.  Or,  on  the  other  hand,  without  the  least 
change  of  feature,  this  liard,  keen  face  may  become,  by  the  curve 
of  a  line  or  the  addition  of  a  shadow,  the  face  of  a  cruel  and 
pitiless  inquisitor.  Or,  again,  any  face,  however  blurred  and 
marred  by  the  life  of  its  owner,  may  by  the  cunning  portrait- 
painter  be  restored  to  the  face  intended  by  its  Maker,  that  is  to 
say,  a  sweet  and  serious  face.  Great,  indeed,  is  the  power,  mar- 
vellous is  ti»c  mystery,  of  the  limner's  art. 


172  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  Now,"  Elsie  murmured,  "  you  look  like  some  great  philan- 
thropist— a  thouclitfui  philanthropist,  not  a  foolish  person;  your 
high  forehead  and  your  sharp  nostril  proclaim  that  you  arc  no 
impulsive  gusher;  your  kindly  eyes  beam  with  goodness  of  heart; 
your  lips  are  firm,  because  you  hate  injustice.  Oh  !  my  dear 
guardian,  how  much  I  have  improved  you  !  Something  like  this 
you  looked  when  you  told  me  of  my  fortune  —  and  like  this 
when  you  spoke  of  your  dream  and  your  illusions  —  something 
like  this  you  looked." 

She  went  on  working  at  her  fantasy,  crooning  a  simple  ditty, 
composed  of  many  melodies  running  into  one,  as  girls  use  when 
thoy  arc  quite  happy.  The  afternoon  was  hot.  Outside,  Elsie's 
■windows  looked  upon  a  nest  of  little  London  gardens,  where 
nasturtiums  twisted  round  strings  upon  the  walls;  hollyliocks 
and  sunflowers,  which  love  the  Ijondon  smoke,  lifted  their  heads; 
and  Virginia  creepers  climbed  to  the  house-tops.  The  little  Lon- 
don gardens  do  sometimes  look  gay  and  bright  in  the  yellow 
glow  of  a  July  afternoon.  The  window  was  open,  and  the  room 
was  almost  as  hot  as  the  street  outside;  we  get  so  few  hot  days 
tliat  one  here  and  there  cannot  be  too  hot.  On  the  table  lay  a 
photograph  of  her  lover;  over  the  mantel  hung  her  own  drawing 
in  pastel  of  that  swain  ;  on  her  finger  was  his  ring  ;  round  her 
neck  lay  his  chain  ;  all  day  long  she  was  reminded  of  him  if  she 
should  cease  for  a  moment  to  think  of  him  ;  but  there  was  no 
need  of  such  reminder.  It  was  Friday  afternoon,  four  days  after 
the  great  discovery.  Elsie  had  been  informed  of  the  event,  the 
news  of  which  she  received  after  the  feminine  manner,  with  an 
ejaculation  of  surprise  and  an  interjection  of  sympathy.  l)ut  one 
cannot  expect  a  girl  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage  to  be  greatly  dis- 
tressed because  her  guardian,  a  rich  man,  is  annoyed  by  the  tem- 
porary loss  of  certain  shares.  And  as  to  finding  the  criminal  and 
getting  back  those  shares — it  was  man's  work.  All  the  trouble- 
some and  disagreeable  part  of  the  world's  work  belongs  to  man- 
It  was  nearly  five  o'clock.  Elsie  was  beginning  to  think  that 
she  had  done  enough,  and  that,  after  tea,  a  walk  in  the  Gardens 
might  be  pleasant.  Suddenly,  without  any  noise  or  warning  of 
steps  outside,  her  door  was  opened,  and  her  sister  Hilda  appeared. 
Now,  so  swift  is  the  feminine  perception  that  Elsie  instantly 
understood  that  something  had  happened  —  something  bad  — 
something  bad  to  herself.     For,  first,  the  door  was  opened  gently, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  1*13 

as  in  a  house  of  mourning;  and,  next,  Hilda  liad  on  a  dress — 
lavender  with  heliotrope  —  costly,  becoming,  sympathetic,  and 
sorrowful — a  half-mourning  dress — and  she  stood  for  a  moment 
at  the  door  with  folded  hands,  her  classical  head  inclined  a  little 
downward  to  the  left,  and  her  eyes  drooping — an  artistic  attitude 
of  sadness,  llilda  not  only  said  the  right  thing  and  held  the 
proper  sentiments,  but  she  liked  to  assume  the  right  attitude  and 
to  personate  the  right  emotion.  Now  it  is  given  to  woman,  and 
only  to  her  when  she  is  young,  tall,  and  beautiful,  to  express  by 
attitude  all  or  any  of  the  emotions  which  transport  or  torture  her 
fellow-creatures.     Hilda,  you  see,  was  an  artist. 

"Come  in,  dear,"  said  Elsie.  "  I  am  sure  that  you  have  got 
something  disagreeable  to  tell  me." 

Uilda  kissed  her  forehead.  "My  poor  child!"  she  murmured. 
"  If  it  could  have  been  told  you  by  anybody  else !" 

"  ^Ycll — let  us  hear  it.     Is  it  anything  very  disagreeable  ?" 

"  It  is  terrible.  I  tremble — I  dare  not  tell  you.  Yet  I  must. 
You  ought  to  know." 

"  If  you  would  go  on.  It  is  much  more  terrible  to  be  kept  in 
suspense." 

"  It  is  about  George." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Elsie,  flaming.  "  I  have  had  so  much  trouble 
aboat  George  already,  that  I  did  think — " 

"  My  dear,  all  opposition  of  the  former  kind  is  removed,  as 
you  know.  This  is  something  very  different.  ^Vorse,"  she  added, 
in  a  hollow  voice  —  "far  worse." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  get  along." 

"  He  has  told  you  about  the  dreadful  robbery.  Of  course  you 
have  talked  about  nothing  else  since  it  happened.  I  found  my 
mother  full  of  it." 

"  Yes ;  George  is  in  charge  of  the  case.  He  says  that  every- 
thing must  be  recovered,  and  that  Mr.  Dering  will  in  the  end 
suffer  no  more  injury  than  the  trouble  of  it." 

"  That  may  be  so.  Elsie — I  liardly  dare  to  tell  you — there  is 
a  clue.  Checkley  has  got  that  clue,  and  has  told  Sir  Samuel 
everything.  He  is  following  up  the  clue.  I  shudder  to  think  of 
it.     The  man  is  as  relentless  as  a  bloodhound." 

"  Docs  that  clue  concern  me  ?"  Her  cheek  became  pale  because 
she  guessed — she  knew  not  what. 

"  Sir  Sanuiel,  against  his  will,  is  convinced  that  Checkley  has 


174  THE    IVORY    GATE 

found  the  clue.  lie  has  told  nic  the  whole.  Tie  has  consented 
to  my  tt-lling  the  dreadful  story  to  my  mother  and  to  you  —  and 
now  I  am  afraid.     Yet  I  must." 

p]lsic  made  a  (gesture  of  impatience. 

"Go  back,  Elsie,  eis2:lit  years,  if  you  can.  Remember  the 
wretched  business  of  our  unworthy  brother." 

"I  remember  it.  Not  unworthy,  Hilda— our  most  unfortunate 
brother.  ^Vhy,  they  have  found  tlie  very  notes  he  was  charged 
with  stealing.  Tiiey  were  found  in  the  safe  on  the  very  day 
when  tiiey  made  the  other  discovery.  Have  they  not  told 
you  ?" 

*' Checkley  tuld  Sir  Samuel.  He  also  remembers  seeing  Athel- 
stan  place  the  packet  in  the  safe." 

"Oh!  does  he  dare  to  say  that?  "Why,  Hilda,  the  robbery 
was  proved  to  lie  between  himself  and  Athclstan.  If  he  saw  that, 
wliy  did  he  not  say  so?  He  keeps  silence  for  eight  long  years, 
and  then  he  speaks." 

Hilda  shook  her  liead  sadly.  "  I  fear,"  she  said,  "  that  we  can- 
not accept  the  innocence  of  our  unfortunate  brother.  However, 
Athelstan  was  accused  of  forging  Mr.  Dering's  handwriting  and 
signature.  In  this  new  forgery  the  same  handwriting  is  found 
again — exactly  the  same.     The  forger  is  the  same." 

"Clearly,  therefore,  it  cannot  be  Athelstan.     That  settles  it." 

"  Yes — unfortunately — it  does  settle  it.  Because,  you  sec, 
Athelstan  is  in  London.  He  is  said  to  have  been  living  in  Lon- 
don all  the  time — in  some  wretched  place  called  Camberwcll, 
inhabited,  I  suppose,  by  runaways  and  low  company  of  every 
kind.  He  has  lately  been  seen  in  the  neighborhood  of  Gray's 
Inn,  apparently  passing  under  his  own  name.  Checkley  has  seen 
him.     Another  person  has  seen  him." 

"  Have  you  come  to  tell  me  that  Athelstan  is  charged  with 
this  new  wickedness?" 

"The  forger  must  have  had  an  accomplice  in  the  ofTicc — a  man 
able  to  get  at  the  safe,  able  to  intercept  the  post,  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Dering's  ways;  such  a  man  as — say — Checkley — or — the  only 
other  possible — George."     Hilda  paused. 

"Oh!  this  is  too  absurd.  You  arc  now  hinting  that  George 
— my  George,"  she  said,  proudly,  "  was  the  confederate  of  Athel- 
stan— no,  of  a  forger." 

"They  have  been  seen  together.    They  have  been  seen  together 


THE    IVORY    GATE  l75 

at  the  house  from  which  the  forger  addresses  his  letters.  Has 
George  told  you  that  he  has  known  all  along — for  eight  years — 
of  Athclstan's  residence  in  London  ?" 

Observe  how  that  simple  remark  made  in  the  Salutation  parlor, 
tliat  Athclstan  must  have  been  living  in  Cambcrwell,  had  by  this 
time  grown  into  a  complete  record  of  eight  years'  hiding,  eight 
years'  disgraceful  company,  on  the  part  of  one ;  and  eight  years' 
complicity  and  guilty  knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  other.  Hilda 
had  not  the  least  doubt.  It  was  quite  enough  for  her  that  Check- 
ley  said  so.  Half  of  our  newspapers  arc  conducted  on  the  same 
confiding  principle. 

"If  George  has  not  told  me,"  Elsie  replied,  "it  must  be  for 
some  good  reason.     Perhaps  he  was  pledged  to  secrecy." 

"My  dear" — Hilda  rose  impressively,  with  fateful  face — "the 
hand  that  forged  the  letters  is  the  hand  that  forged  the  check — 
your  brother's  hand.  The  hand  that  took  the  certificates  from  the 
safe" — she  laid  her  own  hand  upon  Elsie's — "the  liand  of  the 
confederate,  my  poor  sister — is  your  lover's  hand." 

"  I  knew,"  said  the  girl,  "  that  you  were  coming  to  this.  I  have 
felt  it  from  the  beginning." 

"Remember,  the  thing  was  done  in  the  months  of  February, 
March,  and  April.  First  of  all,  Athelstan  was  then,  as  now,  des- 
perately poor;  the  life  that  he  has  led  for  the  last  eight  years — 
the  life  of  a — a — Camberwell  protligate  " — she  spoke  as  if  that 
respectable  suburb  was  the  modern  Alsatia — "  has  certainly  de- 
stroyed whatever  was  left  of  honor  and  of  principle.  There  comes 
a  time,  I  have  read,  in  the  career  of  every  wicked  man  when  he 
hesitates  no  longer,  whatever  means  are  offered  him  of  making 
money.  Athelstan  it  was — so  they  believe — who  devised  this 
scheme,  which  has  been  as  successful  as  it  is  disgraceful.  My 
dear  Elsie,  this  is  the  most  terrible  disgrace  that  has  ever  befallen 
my  family  ;  the  most  dreadful  and  the  most  unexpected  calamity 
for  you.'' 

Elsie  cauglit  her  sister  by  the  wrist.  "  In  the  name  of  God, 
Hilda,  arc  you  telling  me  what  is  proved  and  true,  or  what  is  only 
suspected  ?'' 

"  I  am  telling  you  what  is  as  good  as  proved — more  than  sus- 
pected." 

"As  good  as  proved?  Oh  !"  Elsie  drew  a  long  breath.  "As 
good  as  proved.     That  is  enough.     Like  Athelstan's  guilt  eight 


176  TnE    IVORY    GATE 

years  ago — "  slic  flared  out  suddenly,  springing  up  again,  and 
walking  about  the  room.  "  Oh  !  it  is  wonderful !"  she  cried — 
"  wonderful !  What  a  family  we  are !  Vi'c  had  a  brother,  and 
we  believed  that  he  was  an  honorable  gentleman,  as  the  son  of 
Lis  father  must  be.  Then  there  was  a  charge,  a  foolish  charge, 
based  upon  nothing  but  may-have-been  and  must-have-been — 
We  believed  the  charge — " 

"Because  we  liad  no  choice  but  to  believe,  Elsie,"  her  sister 
interrupted.     "Do  you  think  we  wanted  to  believe  the  charge?" 

"We  shoultl  have  believed  him  innocent  \mtil  the  thing  was 
proved.  We  did  not.  We  cast  him  out  from  among  us;  and 
now — after  eight  years — he  lias  come  back  poor,  you  say,  and  sunk 
so  low  that  he  is  ashamed  to  see  his  people,  and  we  are  going  to 
believe  another  charge  based  on  may-havo-bcen  and  nuist-lmve- 
been.  No,  Hilda,  I  will  not  believe  it — I  will  not.  And  then 
there  is  George.  If  I  cease  to  believe  in  his  honor  and  his  truth 
I  cease  to  believe  in  everything.  I  cannot  believe  in  Heaven 
itself  unless  I  believe  in  my  lover.  Why,  his  heart  is  light  about 
this  business;  lie  is  not  concerned;  he  laughs  at  that  old  man's 
ravings.  Ravings?  If  Athelstan  is  right  then  his  is  the  hand 
that  has  done  it  all — his,  Hilda;  Checkley  is  the  man  concerned 
with  both  crimes." 

Hilda  shook  her  head.  "No,  Elsie,  no.  The  old  man  is  above 
suspicion." 

"  Why  should  he  be  above  suspicion  more  than  George  ?  And 
you  ask  me  on  the  first  breath  of  accusation  to  treat  George  as 
you  treated  Athelstan.     Well —     Hilda,  I  will  not!" 

"  I  make  every  allowance  for  you,  Elsie.  It  is  a  most  dreadful 
business — a  heart-breaking  business.  You  may  misrepresent  me 
as  much  as  you  please.  I  will  continue  to  make  allowances  for 
you.     Meantime,  ay  hat  will  you  do?" 

"Do?  What  should  I  do?  Nothing,  nothing,  nothing.  I 
shall  go  on  as  if  this  thing  had  never  liappened." 

"  Sir  Samuel  ordered  me  to  warn  you  most  seriously.  If  you 
consent  to  sec  him  again — " 

"Consent?  Consent?  Why  should  I  refuse?  In  a  fortnight 
he  will  be  my  husband  and  my  master,  whom  I  must  obey.  He 
calls  me  his  mistress  now,  but  I  am  his  servant.  Consent  to  see 
him — "     She  sat  down,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  If  you  see  him  again,"  her  sister  continued,  "  warn  him  to 


THE    IVORY    GATE  177 

leave  the  country.  The  tiling  is  so  certain  tliat  in  a  day  or  two 
the  proofs  will  be  complete,  and  it  will  then  be  too  late.  Make 
liitn  leave  the  country.  Be  firm,  Elsie.  Better  still,  refuse  to  see 
him  at  all,  and  leave  him  to  his  fate.  What  a  fate !  What 
madness!" 

"  Wo  allowed  Athelstan  to  leave  the  country.  He  ought  to 
have  stayed.  If  I  advise  George  at  all  I  shall  advise  him  to  stick 
to  his  post,  and  see  the  business  through.  If  he  were  to  leave  the 
country  I  would  go  with  him." 

"You  are  infatuated,  Elsie.  I  can  only  hope  that  he  will  fly 
the  country  of  his  own  accord.  Meantime,  there  is  one  other 
point — " 

"What  is  it?  Pray  don't  spare  me,  Hilda.  After  what  has 
gone  before  it  must  be  a  very  little  point." 

"You  are  bitter,  Elsie,  and  I  don't  deserve  your  bitterness. 
But  that  is  nothing.  At  such  a  moment  everything  must  be  par- 
doned and  permitted.  The  point  is  about  your  wedding.  It  is 
fixed  for  the  12th  of  ne.xt  month,  less  than  three  weeks  from 
to-day.     You  must  be  prepared  to  put  it  off," 

"  Indeed  ?  Because  you  say  that  a  thing  impossible  is  as  good 
as  proved  !     Certainly  not,  Hilda." 

"  I  have  come  here  to-day,  Elsie,  by  Sir  Samuel's  express  wish, 
in  order  to  soften  the  blow  and  to  warn  you.  Whether  you  will 
toll  that  unhappy  young  man  or  not  is  for  you  to  decide.  Per- 
haps, if  you  do,  he  may  imitate  our  unworthy  brother,  and  run 
away.  If  he  does  not,  the  blow  will  fall  to-morrow — to-day — the 
day  after  to-morrow — I  know  not  when.  He  will  be  arrested ;  he 
will  be  taken  before  a  magistrate;  he  will  be  remanded;  he  will 
be  out  on  bail.  Oh !  Elsie,  think  of  marrying  a  man  out  on  bail ! 
One  might  as  well  marry  a  man  in  convict  dress.     Oh  !   horrible  !" 

"I  would  rather  marry  George  in  convict  dress  than  any  other 
man  in  fine  raiment.  Because,  once  more,  the  thin'»-  is  impos- 
sible." 

"You  carry  your  faith  in  your  lover  beyond  bounds,  Elsie. 
Of  course,  a  girl  is  right  to  believe  in  a  man's  honor.  It  makes 
her  much  more  comfortable,  and  gives  her  a  sense  of  security. 
Besides,  we  always  like  to  believe  that  we  are  loved  by  the  best 
of  men.  That  makes  us  feel  like  the  best  of  women.  But  in 
this  case,  when  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Samuel — a  man  who  has  always 
lived  among  money,  so  to  speak,  and  knows  how  money  is  coa- 
8* 


178  THE    IVORY    GATE 

stantly  assailed — is  firmly  convinced  of  Georj^e's  complicity,  I  do 
think  that  you  might  allow  something  for  human  frailty.  In  the 
case  of  Athelstan,  what  did  Mr.  Dcring  say  ?  '  Everything  is  pos- 
sible.    So  I  say  of  George  Austin,  everything  is  possible." 

"  Not  everything.     Not  that." 

"Yes,  even  that.  "What  do  you  know  of  liis  private  life? 
Why  has  he  concealed  the  fact  of  Athclstan's  residence  in  Lon- 
don ?  Why  has  he  never  told  us  of  his  friendship  with  that  un- 
fortunate outcast  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     He  has  his  reasons." 

"It  is  a  most  dreadful  thing  for  you,"  Hilda  went  on;  "and 
after  getting  to  believe  in  the  man,  and — well — becoming  attached 
to  him — though  such  attaciiments  mean  little,  and  are  soon  for- 
gotten ;  and  after  going  the  length  of  fixing  the  day,  and  order- 
ing the  dress  and  the  wcJding-cake,  and  putting  up  the  banns — 
Ob !  it  is  a  wretched  business — a  liorrible  misfortune.  The  only 
thing  to  be  said  is  tiiat  in  such  a  case,  the  fact  being  known  to 
everybody,  no  one  can  blame  a  girl;  and  perhaps,  in  the  long 
run,  she  will  suffer  no  injury  from  it.  Our  circle,  for  instance, 
is  so  different  from  that  of  this  young  man's  friends  that  the 
thing  would  not  even  be  k^own  among  us." 

"I  believe,  Hilda,  you  will  drive  me  mad." 

"  My  dear,  one  must  look  ahead.  And  remember  that  I  look 
ahead  for  you.  As  for  the  young  man,  I  dissociate  him  hence- 
forth from  you.  What  he  does  and  where  he  goes  I  do  not 
inquire,  or  care  about  any  more  than  I  trouble  myself  about  a 
disgraceful  brother.  Some  acts  cut  a  man  off  from  his  mistress 
— from  his  sisters — from  the  world." 

"  Do  not  talk  any  more,"  said  Elsie.  "  Let  the  blow,  as  you 
call  it,  fall  when  it  pleases.  But,  as  for  me,  I  shall  not  warn 
George  that  he  is  to  be  charged  with  dishonesty,  any  more  than 
I  will  believe  him  capable  of  dishonesty." 

"Well,  ray  dear,  there  is  one  comfort  for  us.  You  may  re- 
solve on  marrying  him.  But  a  man  charged  with  a  crime — out 
on  bail — cannot  marry  any  girl.  And  he  will  be  charged,  and 
the  evidence  is  very  strong." 

"  No  doubt.  As  good  as  proved — as  good  as  proved.  Poor 
George!  who  never  had  ten  pounds  in  the  world  until  he  was 
made  a  partner — " 

"  True.     And  there  we  have  the  real  motive.    Seek  the  motive, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  1'79 

Sir  Samuel  says,  and  we  shall  find  tlic  criminal.  Here  you  have 
the  reason  of  the  secret  partnership  with  Athclstan.  Poverty  is 
the  tempter — Athelstan  is  the  suggester." 

Elsie  shook  her  head  impatiently. 

"  Mr.  Bering  was  to  give  you  away.  Who  will  now —  Athcl- 
stan ?  How  can  we — Sir  Samuel  and  I — assist  at  a  wedding 
where  the  bridegroom  lies  under  such  a  charge  by  one  so  near 
to  us  as  Mr.  Dering?  How  can  your  mother  be  present?  Oh! 
Elsie — think !" 

Elsie  shook  her  head  again,  with  greater  impatience. 

"Think  wliat  a  fate  you  may  be  dragging  upon  yourself! 
Think  of  possible  children  with  such  a  brand  upon  them  !" 

"I  think  only  of  an  honorable  and  an  innocent  man." 

"  I  have  just  come  from  my  mother,  Elsie.  She  says  positively 
that  if  the  charge  is  brought,  the  wedding  must  be  put  off  until 
the  man  is  cleared.  And,  for  the  moment,  she  does  not  feel 
strong  enough  to  meet  him.  You  can  receive  him  here,  if  you 
please.  And  she  desires  that  there  may  be  no  disputes  or  argu- 
ments about  it." 

"It  IS  truly  wonderful!"  Elsie  walked  to  the  open  window, 
and  gasped  as  if  choking.  "  Wonderful !"  she  repeated.  "  The 
same  fate — in  the  same  manner — threatens  Geoi'ge  that  fell  upon 
Athelstan.  And  it  finds  us  as  ready  to  believe  in  the  charge  and 
to  cast  him  out.  Now,  Hilda,  go  to  my  mother,  and  tell  her  that 
though  the  whole  world  should  call  George — my  George — a  vil- 
lain I  will  marry  him.  Tell  her  that  though  I  should  have  to 
take  him  from  the  prison-door  I  will  marry  him.  Because,  you 
sec,  all  things  arc  not  possible.     This  thing  is  impossible." 

"We  shall  have  trouble  with  Elsie,"  Lady  Bering  told  her 
mother.  "Call  her  soft  and  yielding?  My  dear,  no  mule  was 
ever  more  stubborn.  She  will  marry  her  convict,  she  says,  even 
at  the  prison-door." 


180  THE    IVOKY    GATE 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WAS     HE     IN     RAGS? 

Stubborn  as  a  jnulc.  Yes — it  is  tlie  way  with  some  girls. 
Man  is  soft  as  wax  compared  with  woman — man  concedes, 
compromises,  gives  way,  submits;  woman  has  her  own  way — 
when  tliat  way  is  the  right  way  she  becomes  a  pearl  above 
price. 

Elsie,  when  the  door  was  shut  and  her  sister  gone,  stood  silent, 
immovable.  A  red  spot  burned  in  her  cheeks;  lier  eyes  were  un- 
naturally bright;  her  lips  j)arted  ;  she  was  possessed  by  a  mighty 
wratii  and  great  determination  ;  she  was  the  tigress  who  fights  for 
her  beloved.  Meantime,  everything  was  changed— the  sunshine 
had  gone  out  of  the  day;  the  warmth  out  of  the  air;  her  work, 
that  had  pleased  her  so  much  an  hour  ago,  seemed  a  poor  weak 
thing  not  worth  thinking  about.  Everything  was  a  trille  not 
worth  thinking  about — the  details  of  her  wedding;  her  presents; 
her  honeymoon  ;  her  pretty  flat — all  became  insignificant  com- 
pared with  this  threatened  charge  against  her  lover.  How  was 
it  to  be  met?  If  it  was  only  a  suspicion  [)ut  into  shape  by  Sir 
Samuel  and  old  Checkley  it  would  be  best  to  say  nothing.  If  it 
was  really  going  to  be  brought  against  him,  would  it  not  be  best 
to  warn  him  beforehand?     And  about  her  brother — " 

She  sat  down,  and  wrote  out  the  facts.  To  be  doing  this 
cleared  her  brain,  and  seemed  like  working  for  her  lover.  In 
March,  1883,  a  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  to 
the  order  of  one  Edmund  Gray,  was  cashed  in  ten-pound  notes 
by  a  commissionnaire  sent  from  a  hotel  in  Arundel  Street,  Strand. 
No  one  ever  found  out  this  Edmund  Gray.  Athclstan  was  sus- 
pected. The  notes  themselves  were  never  presented,  and  were 
found  the  other  day  in  Mr.  Bering's  safe,  covered  with  dust,  at 
the  back  of  some  books. 

In  February,  March,  and  April,  by  means  of  forged  letters,  a 
great  quantity  of  shares  were  transferred  from  the  name  of  Ed- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  181 

ward  Dcring  to  that  of  EJmnnd  Gray,  The  writinf?  of  the  let- 
ters was  the  same  as  that  of  the  forged  check. 

These  were  the  only  facts.  The  rest  was  all  inference  and  pre- 
sumption. Athelstan  had  been  seen  in  London  ;  Athelstan  had 
been  living  all  the  time  in  London  ;  Athelstan  had  been  seen  go- 
ing into  the  house  which  was  given  as  the  residence  of  Edmund 
Gray.  ^Vcll — Athelstan  must  be  seen  the  very  first  thing.  Fur- 
ther than  this  point  she  could  not  get.  She  rang  the  bell,  ordered 
tea  to  be  brought  to  her  own  room,  and  then  put  on  her  hat  and 
went  out  to  the  Gardens,  where  she  walked  about  under  the  trees, 
disquieted  and  unhappy.  If  a  charge  is  going  to  be  brought 
against  you,  the  most  innocent  man  in  the  world  must  be  disqui- 
eted until  he  knows  the  nature  of  the  evidence  against  him. 
Once  satisfied  as  to  that,  he  may  be  happy  again.  What  evi- 
dence could  they  bring  against  George  ? 

Slie  went  home  about  eight,  going  without  dinner  rather  than 
sit  down  with  her  mother.  It  is  a  miserable  thing  for  a  girl 
to  be  full  of  hardness  against  her  mother,  Elsie  already  had  had 
experience,  as  you  have  seen.  For  the  present  better  not  to  meet 
at  all.  Therefore  she  did  not  go  home  for  dinner,  but  took  a  bun 
and  a  cup  of  coffee — woman's  substitute  for  dinner — at  a  confec- 
tioner's. 

When  George  called,  about  nine  o'clock,  he  was  taken  into  the 
studio,  where  he  found  Elsie  with  the  traces  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Why,  Elsie,"  he  cried,  "  what  is  the  matter?  Why  are  you 
crying,  my  dear?  and  why  are  you  alone  in  this  room?" 

"  I  choke  in  this  house,  George.  Take  me  out  of  it — take  me 
away.  Let  us  walk  about  the  squares,  and  talk.  I  have  a  good 
deal  to  say." 

"  Now,  dear,  what  is  it?" — when  they  were  outside.  "  What 
happened?  You  are  trembling — you  have  been  shaken.  Tell 
me,  dear." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  tell  you  just  at  present — not  all." 

"Something,  then — the  rest  afterwards.  Tell  me  by  instal- 
ments." 

"  You  are  quite  happy,  George?  Nobody  has  said  anything  to 
make  you  angry — at  the  office,  or  anywhere  else  ?" 

"Nobody.  We  are  going  on  just  the  same.  Mr.  Bering 
thinks  and  talks  about  nothing  but  the  robbery.  So  do  I.  So 
docs  everybody  else.    I  suppose  Checkley  has  told,  for  every  clerk 


182  THE    IVORY    GATE 

in  the  place  knows  about  it,  and  is  talking  about  it.  "Why  do  you 
ask  if  anybody  lias  made  nie  angry  ?" 

"  My  dear  George,  llilda  has  been  here  this  afternoon.  You 
know  that — sometimes — llilda  docs  not  always  say  the  kindest 
things  about  people." 

"Not  always.  I  remember  when  she  wrote  me  a  letter  asking 
whether  I  thought  that  a  lawyer's  clerk  was  a  tit  aspirant  for  the 
band  of  her  sister.  Not  always  just  the  kindest  things.  But  I 
thought  we  were  all  on  the  most  affectionate  terms,  and  that  ev- 
erything had  been  sponged  out.  She  has  been  saying  more  kind 
things  about  me?  What  have  I  done  now?  Isn't  the  money 
difficulty  solved  ?'' 

"I  will  tell  you  some  other  lime — not  now — what  she  said. 
At  the  present  moment  I  want  to  ask  you  a  f]ueslion.  If  you 
liave  reasons  for  not  answering,  say  so,  and  I  shall  be  quite  satis- 
fied;  but  answer  me  if  you  can.  This  is  the  question.  Hihla 
says  that  Athelstan  is  secretly  in  London,  and  that  you  know  it, 
and  that  you  have  been  seen  with  him.     Is  that  true?'' 

"  Well,  Elsie,  the  only  reason  for  not  telling  you  that  Athel- 
stan is  here  is  that  he  himself  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  you. 
Athelstan  is  in  London.  I  see  him  often.  I  shall  sec  him  this 
evening  after  leaving  you.  He  is  in  London,  walking  about  open- 
ly. Whv  not?  I  know  no  reason  for  any  concealment.  But  he 
cannot  go  to  see  his  mother,  or  enter  his  mother's  house,  until 
this  charge  against  him  has  been  acknowledged  to  be  baseless. 
As  for  you,  he  will  be  the  first  person  to  visit  you — and  will  be 
your  most  frequent  visitor — when  we  arc  married.  He  is  always 
talking  about  you.  He  is  longing  for  the  time  when  he  can  see 
you  openly.  But  nothing  will  persuade  him  to  come  here.  He 
is  still  bitter  against  his  mother  and  against  Hilda." 

Elsie  sighed.     "  It  is  very  terrible — and  now —     But  go  on." 

"  I  have  answered  your  question,  Elsie." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  have  only  just  begun.  You  say  that  Athelstan 
is  in  London,  but  you  do  not  tell  me  what  he  is  doing  and  liow 
be  fares." 

"  He  fares  very  well,  and  he  is  prosperous." 

"Hilda  says  that  be  has  been  living  in  some  wretched  quarter 
of  London  all  these  years;  that  he  has  been  frequenting  low  com- 
pany ;  and  that  he  has  been,  until  the  last  few  weeks,  in  rags  and 
penniless." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  183 

George  laughed  aloud.  "  Where  on  earth  did  Ililda  get  this 
precious  information  ?  Athelstan  in  a  low  quarter?  Athclstan  a 
prodigal?  Athelstan  in  rags?  My  dearest  Elsie,  if  Lady  Bering 
were  not  your  sister,  I  should  say  that  she  had  gone  mad  with 
venomous  hatred  of  tbe  hrother  whom  she  made  so  much  haste 
to  believe  guilty." 

"Oh!  tdl  me  quick,  George.  Don't  say  anything  against 
Ililda,  please.     I  am  already —     Tell  me  quick  the  whole  truth." 

"  Well,  dear,  the  whole  truth  is  this.  Athelstan  is  doing  very 
well.  I  suppose  you  might  call  him  prosperous.  When  he  went 
away  he  had  ten  pounds  to  begin  with.  People  kindly  credited 
him  with  the  nice  little  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
obtained  by  a  forgery.  We  now  know  that  this  money  has  been 
lying  in  the  safe  all  the  time;  how  it  got  there,  the  Lord  knows 
— perhaps  Chccklcy  could  tell.  He  went  to  America  by  the 
cheapest  way  possible.  He  had  many  adventures  and  many  ups 
and  downs,  all  of  which  he  will  tell  you  before  long.  Once  he 
had  great  good-fortune  on  a  silver  mine  or  something  ;  he  made 
thousands  of  pounds  out  of  it.  Then  he  lost  all  his  money — 
dropped  it  down  a  sink  or  into  an  open  drain — you  know,  in 
America,  these  traps  are  plentiful — and  started  again  on  his  ten 
pounds.  He  was  a  journalist  all  the  time,  and  he  is  a  jour- 
nalist still.  He  is  now  over  here  as  the  London  correspondent  of 
a  great  paper  of  San  Francisco.  That,  my  dear  Elsie,  is,  briefly, 
the  record  of  your  brother  since  he  went  away." 

"Oh!  but  arc  you  quite  sure,  George  ? — quite — quite  sure? 
Because,  if  this  can  be  proved — " 

"  Nothing  is  more  easy  to  prove.  He  brought  letters  to  a 
London  bank,  introducing  him  as  the  correspondent,  and  empow- 
ering him  to  draw  certain  moneys." 

"How  long  has  Athelstan  been  at  home?"  She  remembered 
the  dates  of  the  recent  forgeries,  and  the  alleged  fact  that  all 
were  in  the  same  handwriting. 

"  You  are  so  persistent,  Elsie,  that  I  am  certain  you  have  got 
something  serious  on  your  mind — won't  you  tell  me?" 

"  No,  George — not  to-night.  But  how  long  has  Athelstan  been 
in  England  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  exactly  how  and  when  I  met  him.  Do  you  re- 
member three  weeks  ago,  that  Sunday  evening  when  we  were  so 
happy  and  so  miserable — resolved  on  braving  everything — going 


184  THE    IVORY    GATE 

to  live  on  love  and  a  crust  for  the  rest  of  our  lives? — you  poor, 
dear,  brave  girl !"  lie  touched  her  lingers.  "  I  shall  always  be 
thankful  for  that  prospect  of  poverty,  because  it  revealed  my  mis- 
tress to  mc  in  all  her  loveliness  of  love  and  trust  and  courage." 

"  Oh  I  George — you  spoil  me.  But  then  I  know  myself  bet- 
ter." 

"  Well — on  that  evening  we  went  to  church  together;  and  af- 
ter church,  as  I  was  not  allowed  in  the  house,  we  walked  round 
and  round  the  square,  until  the  rain  came  on,  and  we  had  to  go 
home.  Well,  you  did  not  take  any  notice  ;  but,  as  you  stood  on 
the  steps  waiting  for  the  door  to  be  opened,  a  man  was  standing 
on  the  curb  under  the  lamp  close  by.  When  the  door  was  shut 
behind  you,  I  turned  and  walked  away.  This  man  followed  me, 
and  clapped  mc  on  the  shoulder.     It  was  Athelstan." 

"And  I  saw  him,  and  did  not  know  him?" 

**  Jle  has  grown  a  big  beard  now,  and  wore  a  felt  hat.  lie  is  a 
picturesque  object  to  look  at.  Ought  to  have  been  one  of  Drake's 
men.  1  dare  say  lie  was  in  a  former  existence.  lie  had  then 
been  in  England  about  a  fortnight,  and  every  day  he  had  prowled 
about  the  place  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you — not  speaking  to  you; 
he  trusted  that  you  would  not  know  him  again." 

"  Oh  !  poor  Athelstan  !  That  is  nearly  three  weeks  ago.  He 
has  been  in  England  five  weeks — over  a  month ;  and  three,  four, 
live  months  ago — where  was  he  ?" 

"  I  told  you.     In  California." 

"  Oh  !  then  he  could  not,  possibly — not  possibly — and  it  can 
be  proved — and  oh  !  George — George — I  am  so  glad — I  am  so 
glad."     She  showed  her  joy  by  a  light  shower  of  tears. 

"  "Why,  my  dear,"  he  said,  soothing  her — "  wliy  are  you  so 
troubled  and  yet  so  glad  ?" 

"  You  don't  quite  understand,  George.  You  don't  know  the 
things  that  are  said.  All  these  forgeries  are  in  the  same  hand- 
writing?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  One  man  has  written  all  these  letters  and  checks  and  things 
— both  that  of  eight  years  ago  and  those  of  last  March  ?" 

"  That  is  perfectly  certain." 

"  Then  don't  you  see  ?  Athelstan  was  out  of  England  when 
these  newly  discovered  forgeries  were  done.  Therefore  he  had 
no  hand  in  them.    Therefore,  again,  he  could  have  no  hand  in  the 


THE    IVORY    GATE  loO 

earlier  one.  "Why,  you  establish  his  innocence  perfectly.  Now 
you  see  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  was  so  glad." 

The  other  reason — that  this  fact  destroyed  at  one  blow  the 
whole  of  the  splendid  edifice  constructed  upon  the  alleged  stay 
of  Athelstan  in  London — Elsie  concealed,  ller  heart,  it  must  be 
acknowledged,  was  lightened.  You  may  have  the  most  complete 
belief  in  the  innocence  of  a  person,  but  it  is  well  to  have  the  be- 
lief strengthened  by  facts. 

"  As  for  mc,"  said  George,  "  I  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to 
regard  him  as  one  of  the  worst  used  of  men  that  I  never  thought 
of  that  conclusion.  Of  course  if  the  handwriting  is  the  same, 
and  it  certainly  seems  the  same — a  very  good  imitation  of  Mr. 
Dering's  hand — there  is  nothing  now  to  be  said.  Athelstan  was 
in  California  in  the  spring.  That  settles  it.  And  the  notes  were 
in  the  safe.  Two  clinchers.  But  to  some  minds  a  suspicion  is  a 
charge  and  a  charge  is  a  fact." 

"George,  you  must  take  me  to  Athelstan.  Give  me  his  ad- 
dress." 

'*  Ue  is  in  lodgings  in  Half  Moon  Street.  I  will  ask  him  if  lie 
will  meet  you." 

"No,  no;  let  me  go  to  him.  It  is  more  fitting.  You  will 
see  him  presently.  Will  you  tell  him  that  I  will  call  upon  him  to- 
morrow morning  at  eleven  ?  And  tell  him,  George,  that  some- 
thing has  happened — something  that  makes  it  impossible  for  me 
to  remain  at  home  even  for  the  short  time  before  our  wedding." 

"  Elsie  !  this  is  very  serious." 

"Yes,  it  is  very  serious.  Tell  him  that  I  shall,  ask  him  to  re- 
ceive me  until  the  wedding,  or  until  certain  things  have  happened. 
But  in  any  case —  Oh!  they  must  happen  so — they  must — it  is 
too  absurd." 

"  Elsie,  my  dear,  you  grow  interjectional." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  mean,  George,  that  if  things  turn  out  as  I  hope 
they  may,  I  will  go  home  again.  If  not,  we  will  be  married  from 
Atlielstan's  lodgings." 

"And  you  will  not  tell  me  what  this  terrible  business  is?" 

"  Not  to-night,  George,"  she  repeated.  "  It  is  very  serious,  and 
it  makes  me  very  unhappy  that  my  mother  and  sister — " 

"It  has  something  to  do  with  me,  Elsie,  clearly.  Never  mind. 
Tell  me  when  you  please.  Whatever  you  do  is  sure  to  be  right. 
I  will  see  him  this  cvcninfr." 


186  THE    IVORT    GATE 

"Thank  you,  George.      I  tbink  that  what  I  propose  is  the' 
wisest  thing  to  do.     Besides,  I  want  to  be  with  you  and  Athel- 
stan.     Tell  bim  that  as  be  left  the  bouse  eight  years  ago  I  leave 
it  now." 

"  You  ?  Why,  my  dear  child,  what  forgeries  have  you  been 
committing  V 

"  None.  And  yet —  Well,  George,  that  is  enough  about  me 
and  my  troubles.  Tell  me  now  about  your  search  into  this  busi- 
ness.    How  have  you  got  on  ?'' 

"There  is  nothing  new  to  report.  I  told  you  that  I  left  a  note 
on  Edmund  Gray's  table — no  answer  has  come  to  that.  The 
bank  has  written  to  tell  him  tliat  his  letter  of  introduction  was  a 
forgery — no  answer.  The  dividends  arc  accumulating;  be  draws 
no  checks;  be  makes  no  sign.  In  a  word,  thougli  this  money  is 
lying  to  bis  credit,  and  the  shares  arc  transferred  to  bis  name,  and 
the  letters  give  bis  address,  there  is  nothing  whatever  to  convict 
the  man  himself.  We  could  not  prove  his  signature,  and  be  has 
taken  none  of  the  money.  He  might  call  any  day,  and  say  that 
be  knew  nothing  about  it.  I  wonder  be  hasn't  done  it.  When 
be  does  wc  shall  just  have  to  put  everything  straight  again.  As 
for  poor  old  Checkley  I  really  believe  that  he  is  going  mad.  If 
I  meet  bim  be  glares;  if  he  is  in  his  master's  room  bis  eyes  fol- 
low me  about  under  bis  sliaggy  eyebrows  with  a  malignity  which 
I  have  never  seen  painted.  As  for  being  described,  words  couldn't 
do  it.  I  suppose  be  sees  that  the  end  is  inevitable.  Really,  Elsie, 
the  man  would  murder  me  if  be  dared." 

"The  man  is  dangerous,  George,  as  well  as  malignant.  But  I 
tbink  be  will  do  you  no  barm  in  the  long  run.  Have  you  told 
Athelstan  what  is  going  on  ?" 

"Certainly.  He  follows  the  business  with  the  greatest  in- 
terest, lie  agrees  with  me  that  the  thing  is  done  out  of  the 
office,  with  the  help  of  some  one  in.  Now^  the  point  is,  that 
tlie  man  in  the  office  must  have  control  of  the  mail.  All  the 
letters  must  pass  through  iiis  bands.  Who  is  that  man?  No 
one  but  Checkley.  Everything  turns  on  that.  Now,  here  is 
a  lucky  accident.  An  old  friend  of  Athelstan's,  a  man  who 
coaches,  has  chambers  on  the  same  stairs  and  on  the  same  floor. 
He  knows  this  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  We  have  been  to  bis  rooms 
to  question  bim." 

"  Is  it  to  see  this  old  friend  that  Atbclstan  visits  No.  22  ?" 


THE    IVORY    GATK 


187 


"Yes.  His  name  is  Carstonc — commonly  called  Freddy  Car- 
stone— a  pleasing  man,  with  a  little  weakness  which  seems  to  en- 
dear him  to  his  friends." 

"That  is  the  way  in  wliich  things  get  distorted  in  a  malignant 
mind !  Well.  What  did  this  gentleman  tell  you  about  this  mys- 
terious Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"  Nothing  definite.  That  he  is  some  kind  of  Socialist  we  knew 
before;  that  he  has  occupied  the  chambers  for  ten  years  or  so  we 
knew  before.  Also  that  he  is  an  elderly  gentleman  of  benevolent 
aspect,  and  that  he  is  irregular  in  his  visits  to  his  chambers.  We 
seem  to  get  no  further.  ^  We  see  Checkley  coming  out  of  the 
house.  That  connects  him,  to  be  sure.  But  that  is  not  much. 
There  is  no  connection  established  between  Edmund  Gray  and  the 
forgeries  in  his  name,  nor  between  Checkley  and  the  forgeries. 
One  feels  that  if  one  could  lay  hold  of  this  mysterious  elderly 
gentleman  a  real  step  in  advance  would  be  taken." 

"  You  talked  at  first  of  arresting  him  on  the  charge." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  evidence.  His  name  has  been  used — that 
is  all.  On  that  evidence  no  magistrate  would  issue  a  warrant. 
Sometimes  one's  head  goes  round  with  the  bewilderment  of  it. 
I've  managed  to  learn  something  about  Checkley  in  the  course  of 
Uiesc  inquiries.  He  is  quite  a  great  man,  Elsie— a  tavern  oracle 
in  the  evening;  a  landlord  and  householder,  and  collector  of  his 
own  rents  at  odd  hours;  a  capitalist  and  a  miser.  Bat  he  is  not, 
as  thought  at  first,  Edmund  Gray." 

They  had  by  this  time  got  round  to  the  house  again.  "  Go 
now,  George,"  said  Elsie.  "  See  Athelstan  this  evening.  Tell 
him  that  I  must  go  to  him.     I  will  tell  him  why  to-morrow." 

"  If  he  is  not  at  his  club  I  will  go  to  his  lodgings.  If  he  is 
not  there  I  will  wait  till  he  comes  home.  And  before  I  go  home 
I  will  drop  a  note  for  you.    Good-night,  sweetheart — good-night." 


188  THE    IVORV    GATE 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE    PRODIGAL    AT    HOME 

Ix  the  morninix  Elsie  rose  at  seven,  and  put  togcllicr  such  things 
as  she  would  want  for  the  three  weeks  before  her  marriage,  if  she 
were  to  spend  that  interval  under  her  brother's  care.  At  eight 
o'clock  she  received  her  letters — including  one  in  a  handwriting 
she  did  not  know.  She  opened  it.  "  Dear  Elsie,"  it  said,  "  come 
to  me  at  once.  Come  early.  Come  to  breakfast  at  nine.  I  will 
wait  for  you  till  ten,  or  any  time. — Your  aflcctionate  brother, 
Athelstan." 

"Oh!"  she  murmured.  "And  I  did  not  know  his  writing. 
And  to  think  that  I  am  twenty-one,  and  he  is  thirty-one;  and 
th.it  I  liavc  never  had  a  letter  from  iiim  before !" 

Her  boxes  were  packed.  She  put  on  her  jacket  and  hat,  and 
descended  into  the  breakfast-room,  where  her  mother  was  already 
opening  her  letters  and  waiting  breakfast. 

"You  are  going  out,  Elsie?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"  Yes.  Hilda  told  you,  I  suppose,  what  she  came  here  for 
yesterday.     In  fact,  you  sent  me  a  message." 

"  I  hope  she  delivered  it  correctly." 

"  She  said  that  you  would  not  sanction  ray  wedding  wliile  this 
charge,  or  suspicion,  was  hanging  over  George's  head.  And  that 
you  would  not  see  him  until  it  was  withdrawn  or  cleared  away." 

"  Certainly.  In  such  a  case  it  would  be  worse  than  hypocrisy 
to  receive  him  with  friendliness." 

"Then,  like  Hilda,  you  accept  the  conclusion?" 

"  I  am  unable  to  do  anything  else.  The  conclusion  seems  to 
me  inevitable.  If  not,  let  him  explain.  I  hope  that  no  time  will 
be  lost  in  bringing  the  formal  charge.  It  is  foolish  kindness — 
real  cruelty — to  all  concerned  to  keep  such  a  thing  hanging  over 
our  heads.  I  say  our  heads,  not  yours  only,  Elsie,  because  you 
know  your  brother  is  implicated — perhaps  the  real  contriver  of 
the  dreadful  scheme." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  189 

""Would  j'oii  believe  me  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  Athclstan 
could  not  be  implicated?" 

"My  dear!  believe  yon?  Of  course  I  would  believe  if  I  could. 
Unfortunately,  the  evidence  is  too  great." 

Elsie  sighed.  "  Very  well,  I  will  say  notliing  more.  You  have 
driven  out  my  lover  as  you  drove  out  my  brother,  for  the  self- 
same cause  and  on  the  self-same  charge.  I  follow  my  lover  and 
my  brother," 

"  Elsie  " — her  mother  started.  "  Do  not,  I  pray  you,  do  any- 
thing rash.  Ilcmembcr,  a  scandal — a  whisper  even — may  be 
fatal  to  you  hereafter.  Sit  down  and  wait.  All  I  ask  you  to 
do  is  to  wait." 

"No,  I  will  not  wait.  If  those  two  arc  under  any  cloud  of 
suspicion,  I,  too,  will  sit  under  the  cloud,  and  wait  until  it  lifts. 
I  am  going  to  stay  with  my  brother  until  my  wedding.  That  is 
to  be  on  the  12th." 

"No,  no,  my  poor  child!    There  will  be  no  wedding  on  the  12th." 

"  Before  that  time  everything  will  be  cleared  up,  and  I  shall  be 
married  from  this  house,  so  that  I  have  left  all  my  things,  my 
presents — everything." 

Ilcr  mother  shook  her  head. 

"  Try  not  to  think  so  cruelly  of  George  and  of  Athelstan, 
mother.  You  will  be  sorry  afterwards.  Try  to  believe  that 
though  a  case  may  look  strange,  there  may  be  a  way  out." 

"  I  have  told  you  " — her  mother  was  perfectly  cold  and  un- 
moved— "  that  I  have  come  to  this  conclusion  on  the  evidence. 
If  the  young  man  can  explain  things,  let  him  do  so.  There  will 
be  no  wedding  on  the  12th,  Elsie.  You  can  come  home  as  soon 
as  you  are  convinced  that  your  brother  is  an  improper  person  for 
a  young  lady  to  live  with,  and  as  soon  as  you  have  learned  the 
truth  about  the  other  young  man.  That  is  to  say,  I  will  receive 
you  under  those  distressing  circumstances,  provided  there  has  been 
no  scandal  connected  with  your  name." 

Elsie  turned,  and  loft  the  room.  The  fifth  commandment  en- 
joins that  under  such  circumstances  as  these  the  least  said  the 
soonest  mended. 

"When  a  man  learns  that  his  sister,  his  favorite  sister,  from 
whom  he  has  been  parted  for  eight  years — the  only  member  of 
his  family  who  stood  up  for  him  when  he  was  falsely  accused  of 


190  THE    IVORV    GATB 

a  disgraceful  tiling — is  about  to  take  brealcfast  with  liim,  lie  nat- 
urally puts  as  much  poetry  into  that  usually  simple  meal  as  cir- 
cumstances allow.  Mostly  Athelstan  took  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
London  egg.  This  morning  he  had  flowers,  raspberries  lying  in 
a  bed  of  leaves,  a  few  late  strawberries,  various  kinds  of  confitures 
in  dainty  dishes,  toast  and  cake,  with  fish  and  cutlets — quite  a  lit- 
tle feast.  And  he  had  had  the  room  cleared  of  the  bundles  of 
newspapers;  the  pipes  and  cigar-cases,  and  all  the  circumstances 
of  tobacco  were  liidden  away — all  but  tlic  smell,  which  lingered. 
One  thinks  a  good  deal  about  a  sister's  visit,  under  such  condi- 
tions. At  a  quarter  past  nine  Elsie  arrived.  Athelstan  hastened 
to  open  tlie  door,  and  to  receive  her  with  open  arms  and  kisses 
strange  and  sweet.  Then,  while  the  people  of  the  house  took  in 
lier  luggage,  he  led  his  sister  into  the  room,  which  was  the  front 
room  on  the  ground-floor. 

"Elsie!"  lie  said,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his — "eight  years 
since  we  parted — and  you  are  a  tall  young  lady,  whom  1  left  a  lit- 
tle girl.  To  hold  your  hand — to  kiss  you,  seems  strange  after  so 
long."  lie  kissed  her  again  on  the  forehead.  She  looked  up  at 
the  tall,  handsome  man  with  a  kind  of  terror.  It  was  almost  like 
casting  herself  upon  the  care  of  a  strange  man. 

"  I  remember  your  voice,  Athelstan,  but  not  your  face.  You 
have  changed  more  than  I,  even." 

"And  I  remember  your  voice,  Elsie — always  a  soft  and  winning 
voice,  wasn't  it? — to  suit  soft  and  winning  ways.  There  never 
was  any  child  more  winning  and  affectionate  than  you — never." 

"  Oh  !  you  are  grown  very  handsome,  Athelstan.  See  what  a 
splendid  beard,  and  the  brown  velvet  jacket  and  white  waistcoat 
— and  the  crimson  tie.  You  look  like  an  artist,  I  wish  all  men 
wore  colors,  as  they  used  to  do.  I  only  heard  yesterday  that  you 
vere  in  London.     Hilda  told  me." 

"  ^Vas  that  the  reason  why  you  cannot  stay  at  home  ?" 

"  Part  of  the  reason.  But  you  shall  have  breakfast  first.  You 
can  take  me  in  without  any  trouble  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  more  than  delighted  to  have  you  here. 
There  is  a  room  at  the  back  where  you  will  be  quiet;  we  have 
only  this  one  room  for  sitting-room,  and  I  think  we  shall  find  it 
best  to  go  out  every  day  to  dinner.  That  will  not  hurt  ns,  and 
George  will  come  every  evening.  Now,  Elsie,  you  sit  here,  and 
I  will —    No — I  quite  forgot.     You  will  pour  out  the  tea.     Yes 


THE    IVOUV    GATE  191 

— I  sec.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  wait  upon  you  altogether. 
There — now  you  will  make  a  good  breakfast,  and — and —  Don't 
cry,  dear  child." 

"  No,  Athelstan."  Slie  brushed  away  the  tears.  "  It  is  noth- 
ing. I  shall  be  very  happy  with  you.  But  why  are  you  not  at 
home?  And  why  am  I  lierc  ?  Oh  !  it  is  too  cruel — too  perverse 
of  them  !" 

"  AVe  had  better  have  it  out  before  breakfast,  then.  Strawber- 
ries don't  go  well  with  tears,  do  they  ?  Nor  jam  with  complain- 
ings.    Come,  Elsie,  why  need  you  leave  home  ?" 

"Because,  in  two  words,  they  arc  treating  George  as  they  treat- 
ed you.  I  was  younger  then,  or  T  would  have  gone  away  with 
you." 

"Treating  George?  Oh  !  I  understand.  They  are  pouring  sus- 
picion upon  him.  Well,  I  saw  that  that  was  coming.  Old  Clieck- 
Icy,  I  swear,  is  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

"Yes;  Checkley  went  to  Sir  Samuel  with  the  'case,'  as  he 
called  it,  complete.  He  proved  to  their  joint  satisfaction  that  no- 
body could  have  done  the  thing  except  George,  assisted  by  you." 

"  Oh  !  assisted  by  me." 

"Yes;  while  you  were  in  California,  I  suppose.  There  is  to 
be  a  warrant  for  your  arrest — yours  and  George's — in  a  few  days, 
they  say.  Hilda  brought  the  news  to  my  mother.  They  both  be- 
lieve it,  and  they  want  me  to  break  off  my  engagement.  My 
mother  refuses  to  see  George  so  long  as  this  charge,  as  she  calls 
it,  remains  over  him.     So  I  came  away." 

"  You  did  wisely.  Well,  any  one  may  call  up  a  cloud  of  sus- 
picion, and  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  disperse  such  a  cloud. 
Therefore  we  must  do  everything  we  can  to  find  out  who  is  the 
real  criminal.  Now,  let  us  rest  quite  easy.  There  can  be  no  ar- 
rest— or  any  charge — or  anything  but  a  fuss  created  by  this  old 
villain.  It  is  only  troublesome  to  find  one's  own  people  so  ready 
to  believe." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  were  home  again  ?" 

"  Pour  out  the  tea,  Elsie,  and  begin  your  breakfast.  I  want- 
ed to  reserve  the  return  of  the  prodigal  until  you  came  home  af- 
ter your  honeymoon.  Then  I  meant  to  call  mysteriously  about 
sunset,  before  George  was  home.  I  thought  I  would  have  a  long 
cloak  wrapped  about  me.  I  should  have  begun  :  '  Madam,  you 
had  once  u  brother.'    '  I  had  ' — that  is  you.    '  On  his  death-bed — ' 


192  THE    IVORY    GATE 

*  My  brother  dead  V — that's  you.  *  — witli  this  packet.'  Oh  !  we 
have  lost  a  most  beautiful  little  play.    How  can  I  forgive  you  ?" 

Then  they  went  on  with  breakfast,  talking  and  laughing,  until, 
before  the  meal  was  finished,  they  had  lost  their  shyness,  and  were 
brother  and  sister  again. 

After  breakfast  Athelstan  took  a  cigarette  and  an  easy-chair. 
"Now  I  am  going  to  devote  the  whole  day  to  you.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  for  my  })apcr  which  cannot  wait  till  to-morrow.  All 
this  morning  we  will  talk — that  is,  until  we  are  tired.  AVe  will 
have  lunch  somewhere,  and  go  to  see  the  pictures.  George  will 
come  at  about  seven ;  we  will  have  dinner  and  go  to  the  Naval 
Exhibition.  Then  we  will  got  home,  and  have  another  talk.  To- 
morrow I  shall  have  to  leave  you  to  your  own  devices  between 
ten  and  six  or  so.  I  am  very  busy  some  days ;  on  others  I  can 
find  time  for  anything.  Now  that's  all  cleared  up.  I  am  to  be 
your  banker  and  everything.'' 

"  Not  my  banker,  Athelstan.  Oh  !  you  dun't  know.  I  an)  a 
great  heiress." 

"  Indeed  ?     llow  is  that?"  ho  asked,  a  little  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Mr.  Dering  told  me  when  I  was  twenty-one,  three  weeks  ago. 
Somebody  has  given  me  an  immense  sum  of  money — thirteen 
thousand  pounds.'' 

"That  is  a  very  liandsome  sura.     Who  gave  it  to  you?" 

"That  is  a  secret.  Mr.  Dering  refuses  to  tell  me.  I  wish  I 
knew." 

"  I  wouldn't  wish  if  I  were  you.  Gratitude  is  at  all  times  a 
burden  and  a  worry.  Besides,  he  might  be  a  vulgar  person  with- 
out aspirates  or  aspirations.  Much  better  not  inquire  after  him. 
Thirteen  thousand  pounds  at  three  and  a  half  per  cent,  means 
four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year.  A  nice  little  addition  to 
your  income.  I  congratulate  you,  Elsie;  and  this  evening  we  will 
drink  the  health  of  the  unassuming  benefactor — the  retiring  and 
nameless  recognizer  of  maidenly  worth.     Bless  him  !" 

"And  now,  Athelstan,  begin  your  adventures.  Tell  me  every- 
thing— from  the  day  you  left  us  till  now.  You  cannot  tell  me  too 
much,  or  talk  too  long.  Before  you  begin  ask  any  questions  about 
my  mother  and  Hilda  that  you  want  to  ask.  Then  we  can  go  on 
undisturbed." 

"I  have  no  questions  to  ask  about  either.  I  have  already  ascer- 
tained from  George  that  both  are  in  good  health,  and  that  Hilda 


THE    IVORY    GATE  193 

has  married  a  man  with  an  immense  fortune.  That  is  happiness 
enough  for  her,  I  hope.  Now,  £)lsie,  I  shall  be  tedious,  I  am 
afraid ;  but  yon  shall  hear  everything." 

lie  began.  It  was  such  a  narrative  as  thousands  of  young  Eng- 
lishmen have  been  able  to  tell  during  the  last  five-and-twenty 
years.  The  story  of  the  young  man  with  a  few  pounds  in  his 
pocket,  no  friends,  no  recommendations,  and  no  trade.  Athelstan 
landed  at  New  York  in  this  condition.  He  looked  about  for  em- 
ployment, and  found  none.  He  liastened  out  of  the  crowded  city  ; 
he  went  West,  and  got  work  in  the  business  open  to  every  sharp 
and  clever  man — that  of  journalism.  He  worked  for  one  paper 
after  another,  getting  gradually  more  and  more  West,  until  he 
found  himself  in  San  Francisco,  where  he  was  taken  on  by  a  great 
paper,  which  had  now  sent  liim  over  there  as  its  London  corre- 
spondent. That  was  all  the  story  ;  but  there  were  so  many  epi- 
sodes in  it,  so  many  adventures,  so  many  men  whom  he  remem- 
bered, so  many  anecdotes  cropping  up — in  this  eight  years'  history 
of  a  man  with  an  eye,  a  brain,  and  a  memory — that  it  was  long 
past  luncheon-time  when  Athelstan  stopped  and  said  that  he  must 
carry  on  the  next  chapter  at  another  time. 

"  That  pile  of  dollars  that  you  made  out  of  the  silver  mine,  Athel- 
stan— what  became  of  them  ?" 

"What  became  of  them?  Well,  you  see,  Elsie,  in  some  parts 
of  the  United  States  money  vanishes  as  fast  as  it  is  made.  All 
those  dollars  dropped  into  a  deep  hole  of  the  earth,  and  were  hope- 
lessly lost." 

She  laughed.  "You  will  tell  me  some  day — when  you  please 
— how  you  lost  that  fortune.  Oh  !  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  man, 
and  to  have  had  all  those  adventures  !  Now,  Athelstan,  consider 
— if  it  had  not  been  for  your  bad  fortune  you  would  never  have 
had  all  this  good  fortune." 

"True.  Yet  the  bad  fortune  came  in  such  an  ugly  shape. 
There  has  been  a  black  side  to  my  history.  IIow  was  I  to  tell 
people  why  I  left  my  own  country  ?  I  could  make  no  friends. 
At  the  first  appearance  of  friendship  I  had  to  become  cold,  lest 
they  should  ask  me  where  I  came  from  and  why  I  loft  home." 

Elsie  was  silent. 

They  carried  out  part  of  their  programme.     Tliev  went  to  see 
the  pictures — it  was  eight  years  since  Athelstan  had  seen  a  picture 
— and  after  the  pictures  they  walked  in  the  Park.     Then  they 
9 


194  THE    IVORY    GATE 

went  home  and  waited  for  George,  who  presently  appeared.  Then 
they  went  to  one  of  the  Regent  Street  restaurants  and  made  a  lit- 
tle feast.  After  this,  Elsie  asked  them  to  come  home  and  spend 
a  qnict  evening  talking  about  things. 

By  common  consent  they  avoided  one  topic.  Edmund  Gray 
was  not  so  much  as  mentioned,  nor  was  tlie  malignity  of  Check- 
ley  alluded  to.  They  talked  of  old  days,  when  Athelstan  was  a 
big  boy  and  George  a  little  boy  and  Elsie  a  child.  Tliey  talked 
of  the  long  engagement,  and  the  hopeless  time  when  it  seemed  as 
if  they  were  going  to  marry  on  two  hundred  pounds  a  year;  and 
of  that  day  of  miracle  and  marvel  when  Mr.  Dering  gave  to  one 
of  them  a  fortune  and  to  the  other  a  partnership.  They  talked 
of  their  honeymoon,  and  the  tour  they  were  going  to  make,  and 
the  beautiful  places  they  would  sec — Tours  and  Blois,  Chenon- 
ceaux  and  Amboise,  Angoulemo  and  Poitiers  and  La  llochelle; 
and  of  their  return  ;  and  the  lovely  flat,  where  their  friends  would 
be  made  so  welcome.  Athelstan  was  a  person  of  some  symjiathy. 
Elsie  talked  as  freely  to  him  as  she  could  to  George.  They  talked 
till  midnight. 

Then  Elsie  got  up.  "  Whatever  happens,  Athelstan,"  slie  said — 
"  mind,  whatever  happens — you  shall  give  me  away  on  the  12th." 

"  Now  she  has  left  us,"  said  George,  "  you  may  tell  me  why  she 
refused  to  stay  at  home." 

"  "Well,  I  suppose  you  ought  to  know.  Much  for  the  same 
reason  that  I  refused  to  stay  at  home.  They  then  chose  to  jump 
at  the  conclusion  that  at  one  step  I  had  become,  from  a  man  of 
honor,  a  stupid  and  clumsy  forger.  They  now  choose — I  am 
ashamed  to  say  my  mother  and  sister  choose — to  believe  that  you 
and  I  together  have  devised  and  invented  this  elaborate  scheme 
of  forgery.  "With  this  end  in  view  it  has  been  found  necessary 
to  contrive  certain  little  fabrications — as  that  I  have  been  living  in 
London  on  my  wits — that  is  to  say,  by  the  exercise  of  cheatery — 
for  the  last  eight  years;  and  that,  being  in  rags  and  penniless,  I 
persuaded  you  to  join  me  in  this  neat  little  buccaneering  job.'' 

"  Oh  I  it  is  too  absurd  !  But  I  suspected  something.  Well,  it 
is  perfectly  easy  to  put  a  stop  to  that." 

"  Yes,  it  is  easy.  At  the  same  time  it  will  be  well  to  put  a 
stop  to  it  as  soon  as  possible,  before  the  tiling  assumes  serious 
proportions,  and  becomes  a  horrid  thing  that  may  stick  to  you 
all  your  life.      You  have  got  to  do  with  a  malignant  man — per- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  105 

haps  a  desperate  man.  lie  will  spread  abroad  the  suspicion  as 
diligently  as  he  can.     Let  us  work,  therefore." 

"  Well,  but  what  can  we  do  that  we  have  not  done  ?  How  can 
we  fix  the  thing  upon  Checklcy  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  We  must  think.  We  must  find  out  some- 
thing, somehow.  Let  us  all  three  work  together.  Elsie  will 
make  the  best  detective  in  the  world.  And  let  us  work  in  secret. 
I  am  very  glad— very  glad  indeed— that  Elsie  came." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    WHISPER    OF    CALUMNY 


Whispered  words  are  ever  more  potent  than  words  proclaimed 
aloud  upon  the  house-top.  If  the  envious  man  from  the  house- 
top denounces  a  man  of  reputation  as  a  thief,  a  gambler,  a  patri- 
cide, a  sororicide,  an  amicocide,  no  man  regardeth  his  voice,  thourrh 
he  call  out  with  the  voice  of  Stcntor;  people  only  stare;  the°se 
are  the  words  of  a  madman  or  a  malignant.  But  wliisper  these 
charges  in  the  ear  of  your  neighbor;  whisper  them  with  bated 
breath  ;  say  that,  as  yet,  the  thing  is  a  profound  secret.  Then 
that  rumor  swiftly  flics  abroad,  until  every  burgess  in  the  town 
regards  that  man  askance;  and  when  tlie  lime  for  voting  comes, 
he  votes  for  another  man,  and  will  not  have  him  as  beadle,  sex- 
ton, verger,  school-master,  turncock,  policeman,  parish  doctor, 
workhouse  chaplain,  common -councilman,  alderman,  mayor,  or 
member  of  Parliament.     And  all  for  a  whisper. 

It  was  Chcckley  who  set  going  the  whisper  which  at  this  mo- 
ment was  running  up  and  down  the  office,  agitating  all  hearts 
occupying  all  minds,  the  basis  of  all  conversation.    °  ' 

King  Midas's  servant,  when  he  was  irresistibly  impelled  to 
whisper,  dug  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and  placed  his  whisper  at  the 
bottom  of  that  hole.  But  the  grasses  grew  up,  and  sighed  the 
words  to  the  passing  breeze,  so  that  the  market-women  heard 
them  on  their  way,  "  The  king's  ears  are  the  ears  of  an  ass— 
the  cars  of  an  ass— the  cars  of  an  ass."  The  old  and  trusty  ser- 
vant of  Dcring  &  Son  buried  his  secret  in  the  leaves  of  Lis  copy- 


19G  THE    IVORY    GATE 

ing-book.  Here  it  was  found  by  tbe  boy  who  worked  the  copy- 
ing-press. As  he  turned  over  tbe  pngcs  he  became  conscious  of  a 
sibilant,  malignant,  revengeful  murmur,  "Who  stole  the  bonds? 
— the  new  partner.  Who  forged  the  letters? — the  new  partner. 
Who  robbed  the  safe? — the  new  partner."  Here  was  a  pretty 
thing  for  a  pretty  innocent  ofiicc-boy  to  hear!  Naturally  his 
very  soul  became  aflame;  when  the  dinner-hour  arrived  he  told 
another  boy,  as  a  profound  secret,  what  he  had  heard.  That  boy 
told  an  older  boy,  who  told  another  still  older,  who  told  another, 
and  so  up  the  long  oflicial  ladder,  until  everybody  in  the  place 
knew  that  the  new  partner — actually  the  new  partner — the  most 
fortunate  of  all  young  men  that  ever  passed  his  exam. — who  had 
stepped  at  a  bound  from  two  hundred  to  a  thousand  at  least — 
this  young  man,  of  all  young  men  in  the  world,  had  forged  liis 
partner's  name,  robbed  his  partner's  safe,  made  away  with  his 
partner's  property.     Who,  after  this,  can  trust  anybody  ? 

But  others  there  were  who  refused  to  believe  this  thing.  They 
pointed  out  that  the  new  partner  continued — apparently — on  the 
best  of  terms  with  the  old  partner;  they  argued  that  when  such 
things  arc  done  friendships  arc  killed  and  partnerships  arc  dis- 
solved. They  even  went  so  far,  though  members  of  the  great 
profession  whicli  believes  in  no  man's  goodness,  as  to  declare 
their  belief  that  the  new  partner  could  not  possibly,  by  any  temp- 
tation, do  such  things.  And  there  were  others  who  pointed  to 
the  fact  that  the  whisper  came  from  the  boy  of  the  copying-press; 
that  ho  heard  it  whispered  by  the  fluttering  leaves;  and  that  it 
was  imparted  to  those  leaves  by  Checkley — old  Checkley — whose 
hatred  towards  the  new  partner  was  notorious  to  all  men — not  on 
account  of  any  personal  qualities  or  private  injuries,  but  out  of  the 
jealousy  which  made  him  regard  the  chief  as  his  own  property, 
and  because  he  had  been  deprived  of  his  power  in  the  office — the 
power  of  appointment  and  disappointment  and  the  raising  of 
screw,  which  he  had  previously  possessed.  Checkley  was  de- 
throned— therefore  Checkley  spread  this  rumor.  Others,  again, 
said  that  if  the  rumor  were  really  started  by  Checkley,  which  could 
not  be  proved,  seeing  that,  like  all  whispers  or  rumors,  the  origin 
was  unknown  and  perhaps  supernatural,  then  Checkley  must  have 
very  strong  grounds  for  starting  such  a  thing. 

Thus  divided  in  opinion,  the  office  looked  on  expectant.  Ex- 
pectancy is  a  thing  which  gets  into  the  air;  it  fills  every  room 


THE    IVORY    GATE  197 

witli  whispers ;  it  makes  a  conspirator  or  a  partisan  or  a  confed- 
erate of  every  one;  it  divides  a  peaceful  office  into  camps;  it  is 
the  cause  of  inventions,  lies,  and  exaggerations.  There  were  two 
parties  in  this  oflSce — one  which  whispered  accusations,  and  the 
other  which  whispered  denials.  Between  these  hovered  the  wob- 
blers or  mugwumps,  who  whispered  that  while  on  the  one  hand — 
on  the  other  hand — and  that  while  they  readily  admitted — so  they 
were  free  to  confess —  Everybody  knows  the  wobbler.  lie  is 
really,  if  he  knew  it,  the  master  of  the  situation  ;  but,  because  be 
is  a  wobbler,  he  cannot  use  his  strength.  "When  he  is  called  upon 
to  act  he  falls  into  two  pieces,  each  of  which  begins  to  wobble 
and  to  fall  into  other  two  pieces  of  its  own  accord.  Tlie  whole 
process  of  a  presidential  election — except  the  final  voting — was 
going  on  in  that  office  of  half  a  dozen  rooms,  but  in  whispers, 
without  a  single  procession,  and  not  one  German  baud.  And  all 
unconscious  of  the  tumult  that  raged  about  him — a  tumult  in 
whispers — a  civil  war  in  silence — the  object  of  this  was  going  on 
his  way  unconscious  and  undisturbed. 

Now,  however,  having  learned  that  the  old  clerk  was  actually 
seeking  to  fix  this  charge  upon  him,  George  perceived  the  whis- 
pering, and  understood  the  charge.  When  he  passed  through  the 
first  or  outer  ofljce,  in  the  morning,  he  perceived  that  the  clerks 
all  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  that  they  pretended  not  to  be 
looking  at  him,  and  plied  their  pens  with  zeal.  On  the  stairs  he 
met  an  articled  clerk,  who  blushed  a  rosy  red  with  consciousness  of 
the  thing;  on  his  way  to  his  own  room,  through  his  own  clerks' 
room,  he  felt  them  looking  after  him  curiously  as  he  passed  ;  and 
lie  felt  them,  when  his  own  door  was  closed,  whispering  about 
him.  This  made  him  extremely  angry.  Yet,  for  a  whisper,  one 
cannot  suffer  wrath  to  become  visible.  That  would  only  please 
the  whisperers.  There  is  only  one  thing  worse  than  to  be  sus- 
pected rightly — it  is  to  be  suspected  wrongly,  for  the  latter  makes 
a  man  mad.  What?  That  he — even  he — the  man  of  principle 
and  rule — should  be  suspected  !  Docs  nothing,  then — no  amount 
of  character,  no  blamclcssness  of  record — avail  ?  Is  the  world 
coming  to  an  end? 

George  then  shut  his  door,  and  sat  down  to  his  table  in  a  very 
wrathful  and  savage  frame  of  mind.  And  while  he  was  just  be- 
ginning to  nurse  and  nourish  this  wrath,  coaxing  it  from  a  red 
glow  to  a  roaring  flame,  a  card  was  brought  to  him. 


198  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  I  will  see  Sir  Samuel  at  once,"  lie  said. 

It  is  as  well  that  we  do  not  hear  the  remarks  of  the  clerks' 
room  and  tlie  servants'  hail.  The  service,  in  fact,  is  a  body  of 
critics  whose  judgments  would,  if  wc  only  heard  them,  cause  us 
to  reconsider  our  self-respect.  Great  philanthropist,  great  states- 
man, saintly  preacher — if  you  only  knew  what  they  say  of  you 
down  below  ! 

The  clerks — as  Sir  Samuel  Dering,  his  face  composed  to  the 
solemnity  of  a  mute,  walked  into  the  new  partner's  room — whis- 
j)ercd  to  each  otlier,  "He's  going  to  finish  liim.  There'll  be  a 
bolt  to-night.  lie  won't  dare  face  it  out.  He  has  got  a  nerve!!! 
The  game's  up  at  last.  They  won't  prosecute — you  see  if  they 
do.  If  it  was  one  of  us,  now.  Sir  Samuel's  come  to  warn  him 
— now  you'll  sec."     With  other  excl)anges  and  surmises. 

Sir  Samuel,  big  and  important,  coldly  inclined  his  head,  and 
took  a  cliair.  "A  few  words,"  he  said — "a  few  serious  words, 
if  you  please,  sir." 

"  Pray  go  on."  George  sat  up  and  listened.  His  upper  lip 
stiffened.  He  knew  what  was  coming.  The  thing  which  Sir 
Samuel  proposed  to  say  apparently  became  dillicult.  He  turned 
red,  and  stammered.  In  fact  it  is  very  dillicult  to  inform  a  high- 
ly respectable  young  man  in  a  highly  respectable  position  that  he 
is  going  to  be  charged  with  a  crime  of  peculiar  atrocity. 

"  I  am  here,"  lie  said,  after  two  or  three  false  starts,  "  without 
my  brother's  knowledge.  Tliis  is  a  private  and  unofficial  visit. 
I  come  to  advise.  Mv  visit  must  be  regarded  as  witliout  preju- 
dice." 

"  Is  it  not  well  to  ask,  first  of  all,  if  your  advice  is  invited  ?" 

"  In  such  a  case  as  this,  I  venture  to  obtrude  advice,"  Sir  Sam- 
uel replied,  with  dignity.  "  There  arc  occasions  on  which  a  man 
sliould  speak — he  is  bound  to  speak.  You  will  remember  that  I 
was  to  have  been  your  brother-in-law — " 

*'  You  are  to  be  my  brother-in-law.  Well,  Sir  Samuel,  go  on. 
I  will  hear  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  You  are,  as  no  doubt  you  suspect  and  fear,  about  to  be  charged, 
in  company  with  another,  with  complicity  in  this  long  series  of 
forgeries." 

"  Really.  I  heard  last  night,  from  Elsie,  that  there  was  some 
talk  of  such  a  charge.  Now,  Sir  Samuel,  a  man  of  your  experi- 
ence must  be  aware  that  it  is  not  enouirh  for  a  foolish  old  clerk 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


199 


to  suf^gest  a  charge,  but  there  must  be  some  connection  between 
the  accused  person  and  the  crime." 

"Connection?  Good  lieavcns !  There  is  a  solid  chain  of  evi- 
dence, without  a  single  weak  point." 

"  Is  there,  indeed  ?  Well,  we  will  not  ask  for  the  production  of 
your  chain.     Let  us  take  it  for  granted.     Go  on  to  the  next  point." 

"  I  wish,  young  gentleman,  I  wish  most  sincerely,  for  the  credit 
of  yourself  and  for  the  happiness  of  the  unfortunate  girl  who  has 
given  you  her  heart,  that  my  chain  was  of  glass,  to  fly  into  a 
thousand  fragments.  But  it  is  not.  Everything  is  complete. 
The  motive,  the  tempter,  the  conspiracy,  the  working  out,  the 
apparent  success — everything  complete.  The  motive — want  of 
money." 

"  Want  of  money  ?  Well,  I  was  pretty  badly  off.  That  can- 
not be  denied.     Go  on." 

"You  wanted  money — both  of  you  wanted  money.  In  ninety 
cases  out  of  a  hundred  this  is  the  cause — wanted  money.  So  you 
went  and  did  it.  Always  the  way  in  the  City— they  want  money 
— and  so  they  go  and  do  it — go  and  do  it." 

"  I  sec.  Well,  wc  need  not  have  the  tempter  and  the  rest  of  it. 
They  can  wait.     Let  us  go  on  to  the  advice." 

"Just  so.  What  I  came  to  say  is  this.  You  are  in  a  devil  of 
a  mess,  young  gentleman;  the  whole  job  is  found  out;  there's 
no  use  in  trying  to  brazen  it  out.     Best  come  down  at  once." 

George  nodded,  with  as  much  good-humor  as  he  could  assume 
under  the  circumstances. 

"Down  at  once,"  Sir  Samuel  repeated.  "It  is  always  best  in 
the  long  run.  In  your  case,  there  is  every  reason  why  a  scandal 
should  be  avoided.  The  thing  hasn't  got  into  the  papers;  we  are 
only  yet  in  the  first  stage  of  finding  out  what  has  been  actually 
stolen  ;  it  has  not  been  a  case  in  which  the  police  could  help. 
Now,  my  brother  is  not  a  vindictive  man.  I,  for  my  own  part, 
don't  want  my  wife's  brother,  to  say  nothing  of  you,  convicted 
of  forgery.  Eli  ?  Beastly  thing  to  go  down  to  the  City  in  the 
morning,  and  to  hear  them  whispering,  'That's  his  wife's  brother 
in  the  papers  to-day.  Lagged  for  fifteen  years.'  Fifteen  years 
for  certain,  it  will  be,  my  fine  fellow." 

"  Fifteen  years  for  certain,"  George  repeated. 

"Let  me  help  you  out  of  the  mess.  Don't  make  difficulties. 
Don't  stick  out  your  chin.     Think  of  E]sie !" 


200  THE    IVORY    GATE 

George  nearly  lost  his  self-control — not  quite, 

"Think  of  Elsie!"  he  cried.  "Best  not  mention  her  name, 
Sir  Samuel,  if  you  please." 

"  She  would  be  heart-broken  if  it  went  so  far.  If  it  stops  short 
of  that  she  will  soon  got  over  the  little  disappoiutineut." 

"Go  on  to  the  next  point." 

"  Well,  it  is  just  this.  I'll  help  you  both — Athelstan  as  well  as 
you;  yes,  I'll  help  Athelstan.  Hang  the  fellow!  Why  couldn't 
lie  stay  at  Camberwell  ?  Who  cares  about  him  and  his  bad  com- 
pany, if  he  keeps  himself  out  of  people's  way  ?  Now  then.  Let 
me  have  back  the  money.  You  liaven't  drawn  anything  out  of 
the  bank.  Give  me  the  papers.  Then  I'll  square  it  with  my 
brother.  I  will  advance  you  a  hundred  or  two  ;  you  shall  go  clear 
out  of  the  country,  and  never  come  back  again.  And  theii,  thougii 
it's  compounding  a  felony,  we'll  just  put  everything  back  again, 
and  say  nothing  more  about  it." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  very  good  of  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  I  want  to  make  things  easy.  I  don't  want 
a  beastly  row  and  a  scandal.  As  for  Athelstan,  I  shouldn't  know 
the  fellow  if  I  ever  saw  him.  I  hardly  remember  him.  But  for 
you  I've  always  liad  a  liking,  until  these  little  events  happened." 

"  Very  good,  indeed,  of  you." 

"When  the  thing  came  out  I  said  to  Lady  Dering,  'My  dear,' 
I  said,  '  I'm  very  sorry  for  your  sister,  because  it  will  vex  her 
more  than  a  bit.  The  engagement,  of  course,  will  be  broken  off; 
but  we  must  not  have  a  scandal.  We  cannot  afford  it.  We  can- 
not' " — he  smiled — "  '  we  are  positively  not  rich  enough.  Only  the 
very  richest  people  can  afford  to  have  such  a  scandal.  I  will  try 
and  get  things  squared,'  I  said,  'for  all  our  sakes.'  That  is  wiiat 
I  said  to  Lady  Dering.  Now  he  persuaded.  Do  the  right  thing. 
Tell  Athelstan  what  I  have  told  you.  The  warrant  for  the  arrest 
of  the  man  Edmund  Gray  will  be  issued  to-morrow,  I  suppose,  or 
next  dav.     After  that  nothing  can  save  you." 

"  Nothing  can  save  me,"  George  repeated.  "  Is  that  all  you 
came  to  say.  Sir  Samuel?'' 

"That  is  all.     A  clean  breast  is  all  we  ask." 

"  Then,  Sir  Samuel " — George  rose,  and  took  a  bundle  of  papers 
from  the  table — "  let  us  find  my  partner.  You  shall  hear  what  I 
have  to  say." 

"  Ah  !  that's  right — that's  sensible.    I  knew  that  you  would  be 


THK    IVORY    GATE  201 

open  to  reason.     Come.     He  is  sure  to  be  alone  at  this  early 
hour.     Come  at  once." 

They  went  out  together.  The  clerks  noticed  their  faces  full 
of  "business,"  as  we  poetically  put  it— matters  of  buying  and 
selling  being  notoriously  of  the  highest  importance  conceivable. 
Evidently  something  very  serious,  indeed,  had  passed.  But  the 
chief  personage  still  held  up  his  head.  "  Game,  sir ;  game  to  the 
last.     But  there  will  be  a  bolt." 

Mr.  Bering  was  in  his  usual  place,  before  liis  letters,  which 
were  still  unopened.     He  looked  ill,  worn,  and  worried. 

"Brother,"  said  Sir  Samuel,  "I  bring  you  a  young  gentleman 
who  has  a  communication  to  make  of  great  importance." 

"  Is  it  about  this  case  ?  Have  you— at  last— found  out  some- 
thing ?"     The  tone,  the  words,  suggested  extreme  irritability. 

"I  fear  not.  You  know,  I  believe,  all  that  we  have  found  out. 
But  now,"  said  Sir  Samuel,  rubbing  his  hands— "now  comes  the 
long-expected — " 

What  I  have  to  say  will  not  take  long.  I  hear  from  Sir 
Samuel  that  he  and  Checkley  between  them  have  got  up  a  case 
which  involves  me  in  these  forgeries." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Sir  Samuel-" involves  you  inextrica- 
bly." 

"And  that  things  have  gone  so  far  that  I  am  about  to  be  ar- 
rested, tried,  and  convicted,  which  he  rightly  thinks  will  be  a 
great  scandal.  So  it  will— so  it  certainly  will.  He,  therefore 
proposes  that  I  should  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  who'le  business' 
and  give  back  the  stolen  bonds.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  do 
this,  for  a  very  simple  reason— namely,  that  there  is  nothin.r  to 
confess.  But  there  is  one  thing  that  I  must  do.  You  placed^he 
case  in  my  hands — " 

"  I  did.  I  asked  you  to  find  out.  I  have  brought  no  charge 
against  you.     Have  you  found  out?" 

Mr.  Dering  spoke  like  a  school-master  in  one  of  his  least  ami- 
able moods. 

"  It  is  a  very  improper  thing  for  a  person  accused  of  a  crime 
to  be  engaged  in  detecting  it.  So  I  resign  the  case— there  are 
the  papers.  You  liad  better  go  to  some  solicitor  accustomed  to 
this  kind  of  work." 

"  Stuff  and  rubbish  !"  cried  Mr.  Dering. 

"  Sir,  you  have  deceived  me."    Sir  Samuel's  face  was  gradually 


203  THE    IVORY    GATE 

resuming  its  normal  ]enG:tli.  "You  promised  to  confess,  and  you 
have  not.  You  as  good  as  confessed  just  now.  This  man  is 
clearly,  unmistakably  guilty,"  lie  added,  turning  to  his  brother. 

"I  have  not  asked  yon,  my  partner,"  Mr.  Dcring  added,  more 
softly,  "to  give  up  the  case.  I  have  heard  what  is  said.  I 
have  observed  that  the  so-called  case  is  built  up  entirely  on  con- 
jecture." 

"No,  no,"  said  Sir  Samuel.  "It  is  a  sound  structure,  com- 
plete in  every  part." 

"And  there  is  nothing,  as  yet,  to  connect  any  man  with  the 
thing — not  even  the  man  Ktlmund  Gray." 

"Quite  wrong — quite  wrong,"  said  Sir  Samuel.  "In  the  City, 
we  may  not  be  lawyers,  but  we  understand  evidence." 

"  I  cannot  choose  but  give  up  the  case,"  George  replied.  "  Con- 
sider. Alrcadv  Mrs.  Arundel  has  rc(juested  her  daughter  to  break 
oflE  her  engagement ;  I  am  forbidden  the  house ;  Elsie  has  left  her 
mother,  and  gone  to  Iicr  brother.  No,  sir — take  the  papers,  and 
give  them  to  some  other  person." 

Mr.  Dering  mechanically  took  the  papers,  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  them. 

"Let  me  remind  you,"  George  continued,  "how  far  we  have 
got.  Wc  have  proved  that  Edmund  Gray  is  a  real  person,  known 
to  many.  We  have  not  proved  the  connection  between  him  and 
the  robberies  committed  in  his  name.  He  is  apparently  a  most 
respectable  person.  The  problem  before  you  is  still  to  fix  the 
crime  on  some  one.  I  shall  be  glad  to  licar  that  it  has  been  suc- 
cessfully solved." 

"Glad?"  asked  Sir  Samuel.  '' Vou  will  be  glad?  This  is 
amazing !" 

"  Eight  years  ago,  Mr.  Dering,  another  man  stood  here,  and 
was  accused  of  a  similar  crime.  He  refused  to  stay  in  the  house 
under  such  a  charge.  That  was  foolish.  Time  has  established 
his  innocence.  I  shall  stay.  I  am  your  partner.  The  partner- 
ship can  only  be  dissolved  by  mutual  consent.     I  remain." 

Mr.  Dering  laid  his  head  upon  his  hand  and  sighed.  "  I  be- 
lieve I  shall  be  driven  mad  before  long  with  this  business,"  he 
said  querulously.  He  had  lost  something  of  his  decision  of 
speech.  "  Well,  I  will  give  the  case  to  somebody  else.  Mean- 
time,- look  here.     Tell  me  how  these  things  came  here." 

The  "  things "  were  two  envelopes  containing  letters.     They 


THE    IVORY    GATE 


203 


■were  addressed  to  Edmund  Gray,  and  had  been  opened.  One  of 
thcni  was  George's  own  note,  inviting  liini  to  call.  The  other  was 
the  letter  from  the  manager  of  the  bank,  asking  for  other  refer- 
ences. 

"How  did  they  get  here?"  asked  Mr.  Bering  again. 
"  Had  you  not  better  ask  Checkley  ?"  George  rang  the  bell. 
"  I  found  these  on  the  top  of  my  letters,  Checkley,"  said  Mr. 
Bering.  "  You  were  the  first  in  the  room.  You  put  the  letters 
on  the  table.  I  found  them  on  the  top  of  the  lieap.  Nobody 
had  been  in  the  room  except  you  and  me.  You  must  have  put 
them  there." 

Checkley  looked  at  the  envelopes,  and  began  to  tremble.  "I 
don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  put  the  letters  on  the  table.  They 
were  not  among  them.  Somebody  must  have  put  them  there" — 
he  looked  at  the  new  partner — "  some  friend  of  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray — between  the  time  that  I  left  the  room  and  the  time  when 
you  came." 

"1  entered  the  room,"  Mr.  Bering  replied,  "as  you  were  leav- 
ing it." 

"Observe,"  said  George,  "that  in  the  whole  conduct  of  this 
business  there  has  been  one  man  engaged  who  has  control  of  the 
letters.  That  man — the  only  man  in  the  office — is,  I  believe,  the 
man  before  us — your  clerk,  Checkley." 

"  How  came  the  letters  here  ?"  Mr.  Bering  repeated  angrily. 
"  I    don't    know,"    answered    Checkley.      "  He " — indicating 
George — "  must  have  put  them  there." 

"Tlie  devil  is  in  the  office,  I  believe.  How  do  things  come 
here?  How  do  they  vanish?  Who  put  the  notes  in  the  safe? 
Wko  took  the  certificates  out  of  the  safe  ?  All  you  can  do  is  to 
.stand  and  accuse  each  other.  \Vhat  good  are  you — any  of  you  ? 
Find  out — find  out !  Yesterday  there  was  a  handbill  about  Ed- 
mund Gray  in  the  safe.  The  day  before  there  was  a  handful  of 
socialist  tracts  on  the  letters.  Find  out,  I  say." 
"Give  the  thing  to  detectives,"  said  George. 
"  Let  me  take  the  case  in  hand,  brother."  Sir  Samuel  laid 
hands  on  the  papers.  "  I  flatter  myself  that  I  will  very  soon  have 
the  fellow  under  lock  and  key.  And  then,  sir" — he  turned  to 
George — "  scandal  or  no  scandal,  there  shall  be  no  pity,  no  mercy 
— none." 

George  laughed.     "  Well,  Sir  Samuel,  in  a  fortnight  or  so  I 


204  THE    IVORY    GATE 

shall  call  myself  your  brother-in-law.  Till  then,  farewell." 
lie  left  the  oflicc,  and  returned  to  his  own  room,  the  ripple 
of  the  laui^hter  still  upon  his  lips  and  in  his  eyes,  so  that  the 
clerks  marvelled,  and  the  faith  of  those  who  believed  in  bim  was 
strencjthcned. 

"Before  then,  young  crowing  bantam,"  cried  Sir  Samuel  after 
him,  "  I  shall  have  you  under  lock  and  key." 

"  xVh  !"  This  was  Checkley.  The  little  interjection  expressed, 
far  more  than  any  words  could  do,  his  satisfaction  at  the  prospect. 
TliLMi  he  left  the  room,  grumbling  and  muttering. 

"  1  believe  that  this  business  will  finish  me  off."  Mr.  Dcring 
sighed  again,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead.  "  Night 
and  day  it  worries  me.  It  makes  my  forgetful ness  grow  upon 
me.  I  am  as  good  as  gone.  This  hour  I  cannot  remember  the 
last  hour.  See — I  had  breakfast  at  home  as  usual.  I  remember 
that.  I  remember  setting  out.  It  is  ten  minutes'  w.ilk  from 
Bedford  Row  here.  I  have  taken  an  hour  and  a  half.  How?  I 
do  not  know.  \Vhat  did  I  do  last  night?  I  do  not  know,  and 
I  am  pursued  by  this  forger — robber — demon,  lie  puts  things 
in  my  safe — yesterday  a  placard  that  Edmund  Gray  was  going 
to  give  a  lecture  on  something  or  other;  the  day  before  a  bundle 
of  tracts  by  Edmund  Gray.  What  do  these  things  mean  ?  What 
can  1  do?" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HE  COMES  FROM  EDMUND  GRAY 


*'  Nothing,"  said  Athelstan,  "  could  possibly  happen  more  for- 
tunately. We  have  turned  whispering  conspirators  into  declared 
enemies.  Now  you  are  free  to  investigate  in  your  own  way  with- 
out having  to  report  progress  every  day." 

"About  this  new  business  of  the  letters  and  the  things  in 
the  safe,"  said  Elsie.  "  It  looks  to  me  like  diablerie.  Checkley 
couldn't  do  it.  No  conjurer  in  the  world  could  do  it.  There 
must  be  somebody  else  in  the  office  to  do  these  things.  They 
mean  defiance.  The  forger  says,  *  See — I  do  what  I  please  with 
you.     I  return  your  letters  addressed  to  Edmund  Gray.     I  place 


THE    IVORY    GATE  205 

placards  about  Edmund  Gray  in  your  safe,  for  which  nobody  has 
a  key  except  yourself.     Find  inc,  if  you  can.'  " 

"  Yes,  it's  very  mysterious." 

"  A  person  on  two  sticks  might  manage  it.  Very  likely  he  is 
concerned  in  the  business.  Or  a  boy  under  the  table  would  be 
able  to  do  it.  Perhaps  there  is  a  boy  under  the  table.  There 
must  be.  Mr.  Bering's  table  is  like  the  big  bed  of  Ware.  I  dare 
say  fifty  boys  might  creep  under  that  table,  and  wait  there  for  a 
chance.     But  perhaps  there  is  only  one — a  comic  boy." 

"  I  should  like  to  catch  the  joker,"  said  George.  "  I  would 
give  him  something  still  more  humorous  to  laugh  at." 

"  If  there  is  no  comic  boy — and  no  person  with  two  sticks," 
Elsie  continued,  "  we  arc  thrown  back  upon  Checkley.  lie  seems 
to  be  the  only  man  who  receives  the  letters  and  goes  in  and  out 
of  the  office  all  day.  Well,  I  don't  think  it  is  Checkley.  I 
don't  think  it  can  be.  George,  you  once  saw  Mr.  Bering  in  a 
very  strange  condition — unconscious,  walking  about  with  open 
eyes  seeing  nobody.  Bon't  you  think  that  he  may  have  done 
this  more  than  once?" 

"  W'hat  do  you  mean,  Elsie?" 

"Bon't  you  think  that  some  of  these  things — things  put  in  the 
safe,  for  instance — may  have  been  put  there  by  Mr.  Bering  him- 
self ?  You  saw  him  open  the  safe.  Afterwards  he  knew  nothing 
about  it.  Could  he  not  do  this  more  than  once  ?  might  it  be  a 
habit?" 

"  Well — l)ut  if  he  puts  the  things  in  the  safe — things  that 
belong  to  Edmund  Gray — he  must  know  Edmund  Gray.  For 
instance,  how  did  he  get  my  note  to  Edmund  Gray,  left  by  me 
on  his  table  in  Gray's  Inn  ?  That  must  have  been  given  to  him 
by  Edmund  Gray  himself." 

"Or  by  some  friend  of  Edmund  Gray.  Yes,  that  is  quite 
certain." 

"Come,"  said  Athelstan.  "This  infernal  Edmund  Gray  is  too 
much  with  us.  Let  us  leave  off  talking  about  him  for  a  while. 
Let  him  rest  for  this  evening.  Elsie,  put  on  your  things.  We 
will  go  and  dine  somewhere,  and  go  to  the  play  afterwards." 

They  did  so.  They  had  the  quiet  little  restaurant  dinner  that 
girls  have  learned  of  late  to  love  so  much — the  little  dinner  where 
everything  seems  so  much  brighter  and  better  served  than  one 
can  get  at  home.     After  the  dinner  they  went  to  a  theatre,  taking 


206  THE    IVORY    GATK 

places  in  the  dress  circle,  where,  given  good  eyes,  one  sees  quite 
as  well  as  from  the  stalls  at  half  the  money.  After  the  theatre 
they  went  home,  and  there  was  an  exhibition  of  tobacco  and  soda 
water.  Those  were  very  pleasant  days  in  the  Piccadilly  lodg- 
ings, even  allowing  for  the  troubles  which  brought  them  about. 
Athelstan  was  the  most  delightful  of  brothers,  and  every  even- 
ing brought  its  feast  of  laughter  and  of  delightful  talk.  .  But  all 
through  the  evening,  all  through  the  play,  Elsie  saw  nothing  but 
Mr.  Dering,  and  him  engaged  in  daylight  somnambulism.  She 
saw  him  as  George  described  liim,  opening  the  safe,  closing  it 
again,  and  afterwards  wholly  forgetful  of  what  he  had  done. 

She  thought  abt^ut  this  all  night.  Now,  when  one  has  a  gleam 
or  glimmer  of  an  idea,  when  one  wants  to  disengage  a  single 
thought  from  the  myriads  which  cross  the  brain,  and  to  fix  it  and 
to  make  it  clear,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  good  as  to  talk 
about  it.  The  effort  of  finding  words  with  which  to  drag  it  out 
makes  it  clearer.  Every  story-teller  knows  that  the  mere  telling 
of  a  story  turns  his  characters,  who  before  were  mere  shadows, 
and  shapeless  shadows,  into  creatures  of  flesh  and  blood.  There- 
fore, in  the  morning  she  began  upon  the  thought  which  haunted 
her. 

"  Athelstan,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  anything  about  somnam- 
bulism ?" 

"I  knew  a  man  once  in  California  who  shot  a  grizzly  when  lie 
was  sleep-walking.  At  least,  he  said  so.  That's  the  sum  of  my 
knowledge  on  the  subject." 

"  1  want  to  know  if  people  often  walk  about  in  the  daytime 
unconscious?" 

"They  do.     It  is  called  'wool-gathering.'" 

"  Seriously,  Athelstan  ?  Consider.  George  saw  Mr.  Dering 
arrive  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness.  He  saw  nobody  in  the 
room.  He  opened  the  safe,  and  placed  some  papers  there.  Then 
he  locked  the  safe.  Then  he  sat  down  at  the  window.  Pres- 
ently he  awoke,  and  became  himself  again.  If  he  did  that  once 
he  might  do  it  again." 

"  Well  ?     And  then  ?" 

"You  heard  yesterday  about  the  letters  and  the  placard  and 
the  Socialist  tracts.  Now,  Checkley  couldn't  do  that.  He 
couldn't,  and  he  wouldn't." 

"  Well  ?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  207 

"  But  Mr.  Bering  could.  If  he  had  that  attack  once  he  might 
have  it  again  and  again.  Why,  he  constantly  complains  of  for- 
getting things." 

"  But  the  letters  yesterday  were  addressed  to  Edmund  Gray. 
How  do  you  connect  Edmund  Gray  with  Edward  Dering?" 

"  I  don't  know.  But,  my  dear  brother,  the  more  I  think  of 
this  business  the  more  persuaded  I  am  that  Checkley  is  not  tlie 
prime  mover,  or  even  a  confederate." 

"  The  same  hand  has  been  at  work  throughout.  If  not  Check- 
ley's  aid  to  make  that  hand  possible  and  successful,  who  is  there? 
And  look  at  the  malignity  with  which  he  tries  to  fix  it  on  some 
one  else." 

"That  may  be  because  he  is  afraid  of  its  being  fixed  upon  him. 
Consider  that  point  about  the  control  of  the  letters.  The  busi- 
ness could  only  be  done  by  some  one  through  whose  hands  passed 
all  the  letters." 

*'  Checkley  is  the  only  person  possible." 

"  Yes ;  he  understands  that.  It  makes  him  horribly  afraid. 
He  therefore  lies  with  all  his  might,  in  order  to  pass  on  suspicion 
to  another  person.  You  and  George  think  him  guilty — well,  I 
do  not.  If  I  were  trying  to  find  out  the  man  I  should  try  a 
different  plan  altogether." 

Her  brother  had  work  to  do  which  took  him  out  directly  after 
an  early  breakfast.  When  Elsie  was  left  alone  she  began  again 
to  think  about  Mr.  Bering's  strange  daylight  somnambulism  ; 
about  his  continual  fits  of  forgetfulness;  about  the  odd  things 
found  on  his  table  and  in  his  safe,  all  connected  with  Edmund 
Gray.  Checkley  could  not  have  placed  those  letters  on  the  table ; 
he  could  not  have  put  those  things  in  the  safe. 

Elsie  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  only  just  after  nine.  She 
ran  to  her  room,  put  on  lier  jacket  and  hat,  and  called  a  cab. 

She  arrived  at  half- past  nine.  Checkley  was  already  in  his 
master's  room,  laying  out  the  table  for  the  day's  work  as  usual. 
The  girl  was  touched  at  the  sight  of  this  old  servant  of  sixty 
years'  service  doing  these  oflBces  zealously  and  jealously.  She 
stood  in  the  outer  office,  watching  him  through  the  open  door. 
"When  he  liad  finished  he  came  out,  and  saw  her. 

"  Oh  !"  he  grumbled.  "  It's  you,  is  it?  Well — he  hasn't  come. 
If  you  want  to  see  Mr.  Bering  it's  full  early.  If  you  want  to  see 
the  new  partner  he  isn't  come.     He  don't  hurry  himself.     Per- 


208  THE    IVORY    GATE 

liaps  you'll  sit  down  a  bit,  and  look  at  the  paper.  Here's  the 
Times.     Ue'll  be  here  at  a  quarter  to  ten." 

He  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and  took  up  a  pen.  But  he  laid  it 
down  again,  and  began  to  talk.  "  We're  in  trouble,  miss.  No 
fault  of  yours — I  don't  say  it  is.  We're  in  trouble.  The  trouble 
is  going  to  be  worse  before  it's  better.  They're  not  content  with 
robbing  the  master,  but  they  mock  at  him  and  jeer  him.  They 
jeer  him.  They  put  on  his  table  letters  addressed  to  the  man 
they  call  Edmund  Gray.  They  open  his  safe,  and  put  things  in 
it  belonging  to  Edmund  Gray.  We're  not  so  young  as  we  was, 
and  it  tells  upon  us.  We're  not  so  regular  as  we  should  be. 
Sometimes  we're  late — and  sometimes  we  seem,  just  for  a  bit,  not 
to  know  exactly  who  we  are  nor  what  we  are.  Oh  !  it's  nothing 
— nothing  but  what  will  pass  away  when  the  trouble's  over.  But 
think  of  the  black  ingratitood,  miss — oh  !  black — black,  I'm 
not  blamin'  you  ;  but  I  think  you  ought  to  know  the  trouble 
we're  in — considering  who's  done  it  and  all." 

Elsie  made  no  reply.  She  had  nothing  to  say.  Certainly 
she  could  not  enter  into  a  discussion  with  this  man  as  to  the  part, 
if  any,  taken  in  the  business  by  the  new  partner.  Then  Clieckley 
made  a  show  of  beginning  to  write  with  zeal.  The  morning  was 
hot ;  the  place  was  quiet ;  the  old  man's  hand  gradually  slack- 
ened ;  the  pen  stopped ;  the  eyes  closed ;  his  head  dropped  back 
upon  his  chair;  he  was  asleep.  It  is  not  uncommon  fur  an  old 
man  to  drop  off  in  this  way, 

Elsie  sat  perfectly  still.  At  eleven  o'clock  she  heard  a  step 
upon  the  stairs.  It  mounted ;  it  stopped ;  the  private  door  was 
opened,  and  Mr.  Dering  entered.  He  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
doorway,  looking  about  the  room.  Now,  as  the  girl  looked  at 
him  she  perceived  that  he  was  again  in  the  condition  described 
by  George — as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  in  this  condition  that  Mr. 
Dering  generally  arrived  in  the  morning.  His  coat  was  unbut- 
toned; his  face  wore  the  genial  and  benevolent  look  which  we 
do  not  generally  associate  with  lawyers  of  fifty  years'  standing; 
the  eyes  were  Mr.  Bering's  eyes,  but  they  were  changed — not  in 
color  or  in  form,  but  in  expression.  Elsie  was  reminded  of  her 
portrait.  That  imaginary  sketch  was  no  other  than  the  Mr.  Ber- 
ing who  now  stood  before  her. 

lie  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  walked  across  the  room  to 
the  window. 


TDK    IVORY    GATE  209 

Then  Elsie,  lightly,  so  as  not  to  awaken  the  drowsy  old  clerk, 
stepped  into  Mr.  Dcring's  office,  and  shut  the  door  softly  behind 
her. 

The  sleep-walker  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out.  Elsie  crept 
up,  and  stood  beside  him.  Then  she  touched  him  on  the  arm. 
lie  started,  and  turned.  "  Young  lady,"  he  said,  "  what  can  I  do 
for  you?''  lie  showed  no  recognition  at  all  in  his  eyes;  he  did 
not  know  her.     "Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  he  repeated. 

"  I  am  afraid — nothing,"  she  replied. 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  Then,  apparently  remembering 
some  duty  as  yet  unfulfilled,  he  left  the  window,  and  unlocked 
the  safe,  lie  then  drew  out  of  his  pocket  a  manuscript  tied  up 
with  red  tape.  Elsie  looked  into  the  safe,  and  read  the  title — 
"  The  New  Humanity,  by  Edmund  Gray  " — which  was  written  in 
large  letters  on  the  outer  page.  Then  he  shut  and  locked  the 
safe,  and  dropped  the  key  in  his  own  pocket.  This  done,  he  re- 
turned to  the  window,  and  sat  down,  taking  no  manner  of  notice 
of  his  visitor.  All  this  exactly  as  he  had  done  before  in  presence 
of  George  and  his  old  clerk. 

For  ten  minutes  he  sat  there.  Then  he  shivered,  straightened 
himself,  stood  up,  and  looked  about  the  room  —  Mr,  Bering 
{.gain. 

"  Elsie !"  he  cried.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  here.  How 
long  have  yon  been  here?" 

"  Not  very  long.     A  few  minutes,  perhaps." 

"I  must  have  fallen  asleep.  It  is  a  hot  morning.  You  must 
forgive  the  weakness  of  an  old  man,  child.  I  had  a  bad  night, 
too.  I  was  awake  a  long  time,  thinking  of  all  these  troubles  and 
worries.  They  can't  find  out,  Elsie,  who  has  robbed  me."  He 
spoke  querulously  and  helplessly.  "They  accuse  each  other, 
instead  of  laying  their  heads  together.  Nonsense  !  Checkley 
couldn't  do  it.  George  couldn't  do  it.  The  thing  was  done  by 
somebody  else.  My  brother  came  here  with  a  cock-and-bull 
case,  all  built  np  of  presumptions  and  conclusions.  If  they 
would  only  find  out!" 

"The  trouble  is  mine  as  much  as  yours,  Mr.  Dcring.  I  have 
had  to  leave  my  mother's  house,  where  I  had  to  listen  to  agree- 
able prophecies  about  my  lover  and  my  brother.  I  wish,  with 
you,  that  they  would  fiud  out  I" 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  hung  it  on  its  peg.     He  buttoned  his 


210  THE    IVORY    GATE 

frock-coat,  and  took  his  place  at  the  tabic,  upright  and  precise. 
Yet  his  eyes  were  anxious. 

"They  tease  me,  too.  They  mock  inc.  Yesterday  they  laid 
two  letters  addressed  to  this  man,  l']>liniind  r»ray,  on  my  letters. 
What  for?  To  laugh  at  me,  to  defy  me  to  lind  them  out.  Check- 
ley  swears  he  didn't  put  them  there.  1  arrived  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  leaving  the  room.  Are  we  haunted?  And  the  day 
before — and  the  day  before  that — there  were  things  put  in  the 
safe—" 

"  In  the  safe  ?  Oh  !  but  nobody  has  the  key  except  yourself. 
How  can  any'thing  be  put  in  the  safe?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  anything.  I  don't  know  what 
may  be  taken  next.  My  houses,  my  mortgages,  my  lands,  my 
very  practice — " 

"Nay — they  could  not.     Is  there  anything  this  morning?" 

He  turned  over  his  letters.  "Apparently  not.  Stay!  I  have 
not  looked  in  the  safe."  He  got  up,  and  threw  open  the  safe. 
Then  he  took  up  a  packet.  "Again!"  he  cried,  almost  with  a 
scream.  "  Again  !  see  this  I"  He  tossed  on  the  table  the  packet 
which  he  had  himself,  only  ten  minutes  before,  placed  in  the  safe 
with  his  own  hands.  "See  this!  thus  they  laugh  at  me — thus 
they  torment  me !"  He  hurled  the  packet  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  returned  to  his  chair,  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  hands, 
sighing  deeply. 

Elsie  took  u[)  the  parcel.  It  was  rather  a  bulky  manuscript. 
The  title  you  have  heard.  She  untied  the  tape,  and  turned  over 
the  pages.  The  work,  she  saw,  contained  the  views  of  Edmund 
Gray.     Aiid  it  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  Dering  ! 

She  replaced  it  in  the  safe.  "Put  everything  there,"  she  said, 
"  which  is  sent  to  you.  Everything.  Do  you  know  anything  at 
all  about  this  man  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"Nothing,  my  dear  child,  absolutely  notliing.  I  never  saw  the 
man.  I  never  heard  of  him.  Yet  he  has  planted  himself  upon 
me.  He  holds  his  chambers  on  a  letter  of  recommendation  from 
me.  I  was  his  introducer  to  the  manager  of  the  bank — I — in 
my  own  handwriting,  as  they  thought.  He  drew  a  check  of 
seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  upon  me  eight  years  ago.  And 
he  has  transferred  thirty-eight  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  shares 
and  stock  to  his  own  address." 

"  Added  to  which  he  has  been  the  cause  of  suspicion  and  vile 


THE    IVORY    GATE  211 

accusation  against  my  lover  and  my  brother,  which  it  will  cost  a 
great  deal  of  patience  to  forgive.  Dear  Mr.  Bering  !  I  am  so  sorry 
for  you.  It  is  most  wonderful  and  most  mysterious.  Suppose" 
— she  laid  her  hand  upon  his — "suppose  that  I  was  to  find  out 
for  you — " 

"  You,  child  ?    What  can  you  do,  when  the  others  have  failed  ?'' 

"  I  can  but  try." 

"Try,  in  Heaven's  name  !  Try,  my  dear.  If  you  find  out  you 
shall  be  burned  for  a  witch." 

"  No.  If  I  find  out  you  shall  be  present  at  my  wedding.  You 
were  to  have  given  me  away.  But  now — now — Athelstan  shall 
give  me  away,  and  you  will  be  there  to  see.  And  it  will  be  a 
tearful  wedding" —  the  tears  came  into  her  own  eyes  just  to  illus- 
trate the  remark — "  because  every  one  will  be  so  ashamed  of  the 
wicked  things  they  have  said.  Sir  Samuel  will  remain  on  his 
knees  the  whole  service,  and  Checkley  will  be  fain  to  get  under 
the  seat.  Good -by,  Mr.  Dering.  I  am  a  prophetess.  I  can 
foretell.  You  shall  hear  in  a  very  few  days  all  about  Edmund 
Gray." 

She  ran  away,  without  any  further  explanation.  Mr.  Dering 
shook  his  head,  and  smiled.  lie  did  not  believe  in  contemporary 
prophecy.  That  young  people  should  place  their  own  affairs — 
their  love-makings  and  weddings — before  the  affairs  of  their  eld- 
ers was  not  stirprising;  but  her  visit  had  cheered  him.  Ue 
opened  his  letters,  and  went  on  with  the  day's  work. 

As  for  Elsie,  the  smile  in  her  eyes  died  out  as  she  descended 
the  stairs.  If  she  had  been  herself  a  lawyer  she  could  not  have 
worn  a  graver  face  as  she  walked  across  the  courts  of  the  vener- 
able inn. 

She  had  established  the  connection  between  Mr.  Dering  and 
Edmund  Gray.  It  was  he,  and  nobody  else,  who  laid  those  let- 
ters on  the  table — placed  those  things  in  the  safe.  This  being 
so,  it  must  be  he  himself,  and  nobody  else,  who  wrote  all  the  let- 
ters, signed  the  checks,  and  did  all  the  mischief.  He  himself! 
I>ut  how?  Elsie  liad  read  of  hypnotism.  Wonderful  things  are 
done  daily  by  mesmerists  and  magnctizers  under  their  new  name. 
Mr.  Dering  was  hypnotized  by  this  man  Edmund  Gray — as  he 
called  himself — for  his  own  base  ends.  Well,  she  would  find  out 
this  Edmund  Gray.     She  would  beard  this  villain  in  his  own  den. 

She  walked  resolutely  to  Gray's  Inn.     She  found  No.  22 — she 


212  THE    IVORY   GATE 

mounted  the  stairs.  The  outer  door  was  closed.  She  knocked, 
but  there  was  no  answer.  She  remembered  how  George  had 
found  his  laundress,  and  visited  her  at  her  lodgings — she  thought 
she  would  do  the  same.  But  on  the  stairs  she  went  down  she 
met  an  old  woman  so  dirty,  so  ancient,  so  feeble,  that  she  seemed 
to  correspond  with  George's  account  of  her. 

"You  are  Mr.  Gray's  laundress?''  she  asked. 

"Yes,  miss;  I  am."  The  woman  looked  astonished  to  see 
such  a  visitor. 

"  I  want  to  see  him.  I  want  to  see  him  on  very  important 
business.     Most  important  to  himself.     When  can  I  sec  him?" 

"I  don't  know,  miss.  He  is  uncertain.  He  was  here  yester- 
day evening.  He  said  he  should  not  be  here  this  evening.  But 
I  don't  know." 

"  Look  here."  Elsie  drew  out  her  purse.  "  Tell  me  when  you 
think  he  will  be  here,  and  if  I  find  him  I  will  give  you  two  pounds 
— two  golden  sovereigns.  If  you  tell  mc  right  I  will  give  you 
two  sovereigns." 

She  showed  them.  The  old  woman  looked  hungrily  at  the 
coins.  "  Well,  miss,  he's  been  here  every  Saturday  afternoon  for 
the  last  six  months.  I  know  it  by  the  litter  of  papers  that  he 
makes.     Every  S.aturday  afternoon." 

"  Very  good.     You  shall  have  your  money  if  I  find  him." 

In  the  evening  Elsie  said  nothing  about  Mr.  During  and  her 
strange  discovery.  The  two  young  men  talked  about  trying  this 
way  and  that  way,  always  with  the  view  of  implicating  Checkley. 
But  she  said  nothing. 


CHAPTER  XXn 

I     AM     EDMUND      GRAy' 


On  Saturday  afternoon  the  policeman  on  day  duty  at  Gray's 
Inn  was  standing  near  the  southern  portals  of  that  venerable 
foundation,  in  conversation  with  the  boy  who  dispenses  the  news- 
papers from  a  warehouse  constructed  in  the  eastern  wall  of  the 
archway.     It  was  half-past  three  by  the  clock,  and  a  fine  day, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  213 

which  was  remarkable  for  the  season — August — and  the  year. 
Tlic  sun  poured  upon  tlic  dingy  old  courts,  making  them  dingier 
instead  of  brighter.  "Where  the  paint  of  the  windows  and  door- 
posts is  faded  and  dirty — where  the  panes  arc  mostly  in  want  of 
cleaning — where  there  arc  no  flowers  in  the  windows — where 
there  arc  no  trees  or  leaves  in  the  square — where  the  bricks  want 
pointing,  and  where  the  soot  has  gathered  in  every  chink  and 
blackens  every  cranny — then  the  sunshine  of  summer  only  makes 
a  dingy  court  shabbier.  Gray's  Inn  in  July  and  August,  unless 
these  months  arc  as  the  August  of  the  year  of  grace  1891,  looks 
old,  but  not  venerable.  Age  should  be  clean  and  nicely  dressed ; 
age  should  wear  a  front  to  conceal  her  baldness ;  age  should 
assume  false  teeth  to  disguise  those  gums  stripped  of  their  ivory. 
It  was  felt  by  the  policeman.  "  We  want  a  washin'  and  a 
briglitenin'  in  this  old  place,"  he  remarked  to  the  journalist. 
"  We  want  somethin'  younger  than  them  old  laundresses,"  said 
the  newspaper  boy.  Great  is  the  goddess  Coincidence.  Even 
while  he  uttered  this  aspiration  a  young  lady  entered  the  gate, 
and  passed  into  the  inn. 

"  lla  !"  breathed  the  policeman  softly. 

"Ah!"  sighed  the  journalist. 

She  was  a  young  lady  of  adorable  face  and  form,  surpassing 
the  wildest  dreams  either  of  policeman  or  of  paper-man — both 
of  whom  possessed  the  true  poetic  temperament.  She  was  clothed 
in  raiment  mystic,  wonderful,  such  as  seldom  indeed  gets  as  far 
cast  as  Gray's  Inn — something  in  gray  or  silver-gray,  with  an  open 
front  and  a  kind  of  jacket.  She  passed  them  rapidly,  and  walked 
through  the  passage  into  the  square. 

"  No.  22,"  said  the  policeman.  "  Now,  who  does  she  want  at 
No.  22  ?     Who's  on  the  ground-floor  of  22  ?" 

"Right  hand — architects  and  surveyors.  Left  hand — univer- 
sal translators." 

"  Perhaps  she's  a  universal  translator.  They  must  be  all  gone 
by  this  time.  The  first  floor  is  lawyers.  They're  all  gone,  too. 
I  saw  tlic  clerks  march  out  at  two  o'clock.  Second  floor — 
there's  Mr.  Carstone  on  the  left,  and  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  on  the 
right.  Perhaps  it's  Mr.  Carstone  she's  after.  I  liope  it  isn't 
him.  lie's  a  gentleman  with  fine  manners,  and  they  do  say  a 
great  scholar;  but  he's  a  lushington,  and  a  sweet  young  tiling 
like  that  ought  not  to  marry  a  man  who  is  brought  home  every 


214  THE    IVORY    GATE 

other  niglit  too  tipsy  to  stand.  Or  there's  Mr.  Gray — the  old 
gent — perhaps  she's  his  daughter.  What's  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  by 
calling,  Joe?" 

"  Nobody  knows.  He  don't  often  come.  An  old  gentleman 
— been  in  the  inn  a  long  time — for  years.  Lives  in  the  country, 
I  suppose,  and  does  no  work.  Lives  on  other  people's  work — 
my  work — honest  working-men's  work,"  said  the  boy,  who  was  a 
Socialist  and  advanced. 

"  Ah  !  There's  something  up  about  Mr.  Gray.  People  are 
coming  to  inquire  for  him.  First,  it  was  a  young  gentleman ; 
very  affable  he  was,  and  free  with  his  money — most  likely  other 
people's  money.  He  wanted  to  know  a  good  deal  about  Mr. 
Gray — more  than  I  could  tell  him  ;  wanted  to  know  how  often 
lie  came,  and  what  he  was  like  when  he  did  come — and  would  I 
tell  liim  all  I  knew.  lie  went  to  the  old  laundress  afterwards. 
Then  it  was  a  little  old  man — I  know  him  by  sight — uses  the 
Salutation  parlor  of  an  evening — he  wanted  to  know  all  about 
Mr.  Gray,  too.  No  half-crown  in  that  quarter,  though,  lie's 
been  spying  and  watching  for  him — goes  and  hides  up  the  pas- 
sage on  the  other  side  of  the  square.  Kind  of  spider  he  is. 
lie's  watching  him  for  no  good,  I'll  bet.  Perhaps  the  young 
lady  wants  to  find  out  about  him,  too.  Joe,  there's  something 
up  at  No.  22.  The  old  gentleman  isn't  in  his  chambers,  I  believe. 
She'll  come  out  again  presently,  and  it'll  be:  'Oh!  Mr.  Police- 
man, could  you  very  kindly  tell  me  how  I  can  find  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray  ?'  \Yith  a  shilling  perhaps,  and  perhaps  not.  I  wonder 
what  she  wants  with  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  ?  Sometimes  these  old 
chaps  break  out  in  the  most  surprising  manner.  Joe,  if  you  ever 
go  into  the  service,  you'll  find  the  work  hard  and  the  pay  small. 
But  there's  compensations  in  learnin'  things.  If  you  want  to 
know  human  nature,  go  into  the  force." 

"  There's  old  Mr.  Langhornc,  up  at  the  top." 

"  So  there  is.  But  no  young  lady  wants  to  see  that  poor  old 
chap.  lie's  got  no  friends,  young  nor  old — no  friends  and  no 
money.  Just  now,  he's  terrible  hard  up.  Took  a  shillin'  off  o' 
me  last  Sunday  to  get  a  bit  of  dinner  with.  Fine  thing — isn't 
it,  Joe  ? — to  be  a  gentleman  and  a  barrister  ail  your  life,  isn't  it? 
— and  to  end  like  that  ?  Starvation  in  a  garret — eh  ?  Look  out. 
She  will  be  coming  down  directly." 

But  she  did  not  come  down.  Two  hours  and  more  passed,  and 
she  did  not  come  down. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  215 

The  visitor  was  Elsie  Arundel,  She  walked  up  the  stairs  to 
the  second  tloor.  Hero  she  stopped.  There  was  a  black  door, 
closed,  on  the  right  of  her,  and  another  black  door,  closed,  on  the 
left  of  her.  On  the  lintel  of  one  was  the  name  of  Mr.  F.  W. 
Carstone.  On  the  lintel  of  the  other  was  that  of  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray.  Elsie  knocked  with  her  parasol  at  the  latter  door.  There 
was  no  reply.  "The  old  laundress,"  she  murmured,  "told  me 
that  Saturday  afternoon  was  my  best  chance  of  finding  him.  I 
will  wait."  She  sat  down,  with  hesitation,  on  the  stairs  leading  to 
the  third  floor — they  were  not  too  clean — and  waited. 

She  was  going  to  do  a  very  plucky  thing — a  dangerous  thing. 
She  had  made  a  discovery  connecting  Mr.  Dering  directly  with 
this  Edmund  Gray.  She  had  learned  that  he  came  to  the  office 
in  a  strange  condition — hypnotic — bringing  things  from  Edmund 
Gray.  She  now  suspected  that  the  only  person  who  carried  on 
the  forgeries  on  Mr.  Dering  was  Mr.  Dering  himself,  acted  on  and 
controlled  by  Edmund  Gray — and  she  wanted  to  find  out  who 
this  Edmund  Gray  was.  She  would  confront  him,  and  tax  him 
with  the  crime.  It  was  dangerous,  but  he  could  not  kill  her. 
Besides,  he  was  described  as  quite  an  elderly  man.  He  was  also 
described  as  a  benevolent  man,  a  charitable  man,  a  kindly  man  ; 
and  he  wrote  letters  brimful  of  the  most  cheerful  optimism.  Yet 
he  was  carrying  on  a  series  of  complicated  forgeries.  She  re- 
solved to  wait  fur  him.  She  would  wait  till  sundown,  if  neces- 
sary, for  him. 

The  place  was  very  quiet.  All  the  offices  were  closed,  and  the 
clerks  gone.  Most  of  the  men  who  lived  in  the  chambers  were 
away,  out  of  town,  gone  on  holiday,  gone  away  from  Saturday 
till  Monday.  Everything  was  quite  quiet  and  still ;  the  traffic  in 
llolborn  was  only  heard  as  a  continuous  murnuir  which  formed 
part  of  the  stillness;  the  policeman,  who  had  now  said  all  he  had 
to  say  to  the  newspaper-boy,  was  walking  slowly  and  with  heavy 
tread  round  the  court.  The  inn  was  quite  empty  and  deserted 
and  still.  Only,  overhead  there  was  the  footfall  of  a  man  who 
walked  up  and  down  his  room  steadily,  never  stopping  or  ceasing 
or  changing  the  time,  like  the  beat  of  a  pendulum.  Elsie  began 
to  wonder,  presently,  who  this  man  could  be,  and  if  he  liad  noth- 
ing better  to  do  than  to  pace  his  chamber  all  day  long,  when  the 
sun  was  bright,  and  the  leaves  on  the  trees,  and  the  flowers  in  full 
bloom  ? 


216  THE    IVORY    GATE 

The  clock  struck  four.  Elsie  bad  been  waiting  balf  an  bour; 
still  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  did  not  arrive  ;  still  the  steady  beat  of  tbe 
footstep  continued  overhead. 

The  clock  struck  five.  Still  that  steady  footfall.  Still  Elsie  sat 
upon  the  stairs  waiting  in  patience. 

^Vhen  the  clock  struck  six  the  footsteps  stopped — or  changed. 
Then  a  door  overhead  opened  and  shut,  and  the  steps  came  down 
tbe  stairs.  Elsie  rose,  and  stood  on  one  side.  An  old  man  came 
down — tall  and  thin,  close-shaven,  pale,  dressed  in  a  black  frock- 
coat  worn  to  a  shiny  polish  in  all  those  parts  which  take  a  polish 
— a  shabby  old  man,  whose  bat  seemed  hardly  able  to  stand  up- 
right, and  a  gentleman — which  was  perfectly  clear  from  bis  bear- 
ing— a  gentleman  in  tbe  last  stage  of  poverty  and  decay. 

He  started,  surprised  to  see  a  young  lady  on  the  stairs. 

"  You  arc  waiting  for  Mr.  Carstone  ?"  be  asked.  "  lie  is  out 
of  town.  He  will  not  be  back  till  Monday.  Nobody  ever  comes 
back  before  Monday.  From  Saturday  to  Monday  I  have  the  inn 
to  myself.  All  that  time  there  arc  no  slammcrs  and  no  strangers. 
It  is  an  agreeable  retreat,  if  only — "  He  shook  bis  bead,  and 
stopped  short. 

"  I  am  not  waiting  for  Mr.  Carstone.  I  am  waiting  for  Mr. 
Edmund  Gray." 

"  He  is  very  uncertain.  No  one  knows  when  be  comes  or 
whither  be  goetb.  I  would  not  wait  if  I  were  you.  Jle  may 
come  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  at  any  time.  He  comes  on  Sun- 
day morning,  often.  I  hear  bim  coming  upstairs  after  tbe  cbapcl- 
bell  stops.  He  is  a  quiet  neighbor — no  slammer  or  tramper.  I 
would  not  wait,  I  say,  if  I  were  you." 

"I  will  wait  a  little  longer.  I  am  very  anxious  to  see  Mr. 
Gray." 

"  He  should  wait  for  you,"  Mr.  Langliorne  replied  politely. 
"  The  stairs  are  not  a  fit  resting-place  for  you.  This  old  inn  is 
too  quiet  for  sucb  as  you.  Mirth  and  joy  belong  to  you — silence 
and  rest  to  sucb  as  me.  Even  slamming  does  not,  I  dare  say, 
greatly  displease  youth  and  beauty.  Chambers  are  not  for  young 
ladies.  Beauty  looks  for  life  and  love  and  admiration.  They  do 
not  exist  here.  Run  away,  young  lady — leave  the  inn  to  tbe  poor 
old  men,  like  me,  who  cannot  get  away  if  they  would." 

"  Thank  you.  I  must  see  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  if  I  can.  It  will 
not  burt  me  to  wait  a  little  longer." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  217 

"You  wish  to  sec  Edimiud  Gray.  So  do  I.  So  do  I.  Yon 
arc  a  friend  of  his.  Perhaps,  therefore,  yon  will  do  as  well. 
Those  who  arc  his  friends  arc  like  unto  him  for  kindness  of  heart. 
TIiosc  who  wish  to  be  his  friends  must  try  to  be  like  unto  him. 
Young  lady,  I  will  treat  you  as  the  friend  of  that  good  man. 
You  can  act  for  him." 

"  What  can  I  do  if  I  do  act  for  liim  ?"  Put  there  was  a  liun- 
gry  eagerness  in  the  man's  eyes  which  made  her  divine  what  she 
could  do. 

"It  is  Saturday,"  he  replied,  without  looking  at  her.  He 
turned  away  his  head.  lie  spoke  to  the  stair-window.  "  To- 
morrow is  Sunday.  I  have  before  this,  on  one  or  two  occasions, 
found  myself  as  I  do  now— without  money.  I  have  borrowed  of 
Mr.  Carstonc  and  of  Mr.  E<lmund  Gray.  Sometimes  I  have  paid 
,t  back— not  always.  Lend  mc— for  Mr.  Edmund  Gray— if  you 
arc  not  rich  he  will  give  it  back  to  you— the  sum  of  five  shillincrg 
—say  five  shillings.  Otherwise  I  shall  have  nothing  to  cat  until 
^fonday,  when  Mr.  Carstonc  returns." 

"Nothing  to  cat?  Nothing  at  all  to  eat?"  Beggars  in  the 
street  often  make  the  same  confession,  but  somehow  tlieir  words 
fail  to  carry  conviction.  Mr.  Langhorne's,  however,  did  carrv 
conviction. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  I  had  some  food  yesterday  at 
this  time.  Since  then  I  have  had  nothinrr.  There  was  neither 
tea  nor  bread  in  my  rooms  for  breakfast.  When  the  clock  struck 
SIX,  my  dinner-hour,  I  thought  I  would  walk  along  the  street,  and 
look  at  the  things  to  eat  which  are  placed  in  the  shop-windows 
That  relieves  a  little.  But  to-morrow  will  be  a  bad  time— a  very 
bad  time.  I  shall  lie  in  bed.  Oh!  I  have  gone  throuo-h  it  be- 
fore. Sometimes  "—he  dropped  his  voice—"  I  have  been  sore 
tempted  to  take  something—  No,  no;  don't  think  I  have  ^iven 
way.  No,  no.  Why,  I  should  be  disbarred.  Not  yet— not 
yet." 

Elsie  opened  her  purse.  It  contained  two  sovereigns  and  a 
shilling  or  two.  "Take  all,"  she  said  eagerly— "  take  all  the 
gold,  and  leave  me  the  silver.  Take  it  instantly."  She  stamped 
her  foot.  '  ^ 

lie  hesitated.  "  All  ?"  he  asked-"  all  ?  Can  vou  spare  it  ?  I 
can  never  repay — " 

"  Take  it !"  bhe  said  again,  imperiou>lv. 
lU 


218  THE    IVORY    GATE 

He  obeyed — be  took  tbc  gold  oat  of  tbe  purse  witb  trembling 
fingers.  Then  he  raised  bis  rickety  old  bat — was  tbat  a  tear  tbat 
stole  into  bis  eyes  or  tbe  rbeuin  of  old  age  ? — and  slowly  walked 
down  tbc  stairs,  bolding  by  tbe  banisters.  He  was  weak,  poor 
wrctcb  !  witb  bunger.  But  it  was  bis  dinner-bour,  and  be  was 
going  to  iiavc  bis  dinner. 

Elsie  sat  down  again. 

It  was  balf-past  six — sbe  bad  been  waiting  for  tbrce  bours — 
wben  otber  footsteps  entered  tbe  bouse.  Elsie  s[)rang  to  ber 
feet ;  sbe  turned  pale  ;  ber  beart  stood  still  ;  for  now  slie  realized 
tliat  if  tins  step  was  truly  tbat  of  the  man  sbe  expected  sbe  was 
about  to  confront  a  person  certainly  of  the  deepest  criminality, 
and  possibly  capable  of  villainy  in  any  other  direction.  The  steps 
mounted  tbe  stairs.  I  really  think  that  tbc  bravest  persons  in 
tbc  world  are  those  who  before  tbc  event  look  forward  to  it  witb 
tbc  utmost  apprehension.  They  know,  you  see,  what  tbc  dangers 
are.  Elsie  was  going  to  face  a  great  danger.  She  was  going  to 
find  out,  alone  and  unaided,  who  this  man  was,  and  why  and  bow 
be  worked  these  deeds  of  darkness. 

Tbe  footsteps  mounted  higher;  from  tbe  door  to  the  top  of 
tbe  stairs  it  took  but  a  single  minute,  yet  to  Elsie  it  seemed  half 
an  hour,  so  rapid  were  ber  thoughts.  Then  tbe  man  mounted 
tbe  last  flight  of  steps.  Heavens !  Elsie  was  fain  to  cry  out  for 
sheer  amazement.  She  cried  out;  sbe  caught  at  tbe  banisters. 
For  before  ber,  taking  tbc  key  of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray's  chambers 
from  bis  waistcoat  pocket,  was  none  other  than  Mr.  Dering  him- 
self ! 

Yes.  An  elderly  man,  of  truly  benevolent  aspect,  bis  coat  open, 
flying  all  abroad ;  liis  face  soft,  gracious,  smiling,  and  full  of  sun- 
sbine ;  bis  bat  just  the  least  bit  pushed  back ;  bis  left  band  in  bis 
pocket.  Elsie  thought  again  of  ber  portrait  at  home,  in  whicli 
sbe  liad  transformed  ber  guardian — and  liere  be  was  in  the  flesh 
transformed  according  to  her  portrait ! 

She  stared  at  him  witb  an  amazement  tbat  bereft  her  of  speecb 
and  of  motion.  Sbe  could  only  stare.  Even  if  ber  mother's 
voice  were  suddenly  to  call  out  to  ber  that  it  is  rude  for  little 
girls  to  stare,  sbe  could  not  cboosc  but  stare.  For  Mr,  Dering 
looked  at  ber  witb  tbat  kind  of  surprise  in  bis  eyes  whicb  means, 
"What  have  we  here  to  do  witb  beautiful  young  ladies?''  There 
was  not  tbe  least  sign  of  any  knowledge  of  ber.     He  looked  at 


THE    IVORY    GATE  219 

her  as  one  suffers  tlio  eyes  to  rest  for  a  moment  without  interest 
upon  a  stranf^cr  and  a  casual  passcnsi^cr  in  the  street. 

lie  opened  his  outer  door,  and  was  about  to  walk  in,  when  she 
recovered  some  presence  of  mind — not  much.  She  step[)cd  for- 
ward. "  Can  yon  tell  me,  please,  how  I  could  find  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray  ?" 

"Certainly" — he  smiled — "nothing  easier.  I  am  Edmund 
Gray." 

"  YoH  ! — you  Edmund  Gray  ?  Oh  !  no,  no.  You  cannot  be 
Edmund  Gray — you  yourself  !"  All  her  beautiful  theory  of  hyp- 
notic influence  vanished.  No  mesmerism  or  magnetic  influ- 
ence at  all.  "You  vourself?"  she  repeated — "you  Edmund 
Gray  ?" 

"Assuredly.  Why  not?  Why  should  a  man  not  be  him- 
self?" 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  understand.  The  world  is  going  upside  down. 
I  took  you — took  you  for  another  person." 

lie  laughed  gently.  "  Truly,  I  am  none  other  than  Edmund 
Gray — always  Edmund  Gray.  My  first  name  I  can  never  change 
if  I  wished,  because  it  is  my  baptismal  name.  The  latter  I  do  not 
wish  to  change,  because  it  is  our  name  ancestral." 

"  I  asked  because — because — I  fancied  a  resemblance  to  anoth- 
er person.  Were  you  ever  told  that  you  are  much  like  a  certain 
other  person  V 

"  No,  I  think  not.  Resemblances,  however,  are  extremely  su- 
perficial. No  two  living  creatures  arc  alike.  We  are  alone,  each 
living  out  his  life  in  the  great  Cosmos,  quite  alone — unlike  any 
other  living  creature.  However,  I  am  Edmund  Gray,  young  lady. 
Is  isn't  often  that  I  receive  a  visit  from  a  young  lady  in  these 
chambers.  If  you  have  no  other  doubt  upon  that  point,  will  yon 
let  mc  ask  you,  once  more,  how  I  can  help  you  I  And  will  you 
come  in,  and  sit  down  ?" 

"Oh!  it  is  wonderful,"  she  cried — "wonderful!  most  wonder- 
ful!"  Again  she  controlled  herself.  "  Are  you,"  she  asked  again, 
"the  same  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  who  wrote  the  letter  to  the  Times 
the  other  day  ?" 

"  Certainly.  There  is  no  other  person,  I  believe,  of  the  name 
in  this  inn.     Have  you  read  that  letter?" 

"  Yes — oh,  yes." 

"And  vou  Lave  come  hcio  to  talk  tu  me  about  that  letter  T' 


220  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"Yes,  yes."  She  cauglit  at  the  liint.  "That  is  why  I  came 
— to  talk  about  that  letter.  I  came  in  the  hope  of  finding  the 
author  of  that  letter  at  home." 

lie  threw  open  the  door  of  his  sittinof-room. 

"  Will  you  step  in  ?  We  can  talk  <|uite  quietly  here.  The  inn, 
at  this  Iiour  on  Saturday,  is  almost  deserted."  lie  closed  the  outer 
door,  and  followed  his  visitor  into  the  sitting-room.  "  This,"  he 
went  on,  "  is  tlic  quietest  place  in  the  wiiolc  of  London.  We  have 
not  in  this  square  the  stately  elms  of  the  old  garden,  but  still  we 
have  our  little  advantages — spacious  rooms;  quiet  always  in  the 
evening  and  on  Sumlays.  A  few  rackety  young  men,  perhaps; 
but  for  one  who  reads  and  meditates  no  better  place  in  London. 
Now,  young  lady,  take  the  easy-chair,  ;uid  sit  down.  Wc  will 
talk.  There  are  very  few  people  who  talk  to  me  about  my  theo- 
ries. That  is  because  I  am  old,  so  that  1  have  h)st  my  friends, 
and  because  my  views  arc  in  advance  of  the  world.  No  man  is 
so  lonely  as  the  man  born  before  his  time.  He  is  the  prophet, 
you  know,  who  must  be  stoned  because  he  prophesies  things  un- 
intelligible and  therefore  uncomfortable — even  terrifying.  1  shall 
be  very  glad  to  talk  a  little  with  you.  Now,  allow  me  first  to 
open  these  letters." 

Elsie  sat  down  and  looked  about  her.  She  was  in  a  large,  low, 
wainscoted  room,  with  two  windows  looking  upon  the  square. 
The  room  was  quite  plainly  but  quite  well  furnished.  There  was 
a  good-sized  study-table  with  drawers  ;  a  small  table  between  the 
windows;  a  few  chairs,  a  couch,  and  an  easy-chair;  and  a  large 
bookcase  filled  with  books — books  on  Socialism,  George  had  told 
bcr.  A  door  opened  upon  a  smaller  room  ;  there  was  probably 
a  bedroom  at  the  back.  A  plain  carpet  covered  the  floor.  Above 
the  high,  old-fashioned  mantel  were  two  or  three  portraits  of  So- 
cialist leaders.  The  room,  if  everything  had  not  been  covered 
with  dust,  would  have  been  coldly  neat,  the  chairs  were  all  in 
their  places;  the  window-blinds  were  half-way  down,  as  the  laun- 
dress thought  was  proper — millions  of  Londoners  always  keep 
their  blinds  half-way  down — a  subject  which  must  some  day  be 
investigated  by  the  Folklore  Society;  the  curtains  were  neatly 
looped  ;  it  wanted  only  a  Bible  on  a  table  at  a  window  to  make 
it  the  front  parlor  of  a  Dalston  villa.  There  were  no  flowers,  no 
ornaments  of  any  kind. 

Mr.  Edmund  Gray  opened  half  a  dozen  letters  lying  on  his  ta- 


TFIE    IVORY    GATE  221 

blc,  and  glanced  at  them.  There  were  a  great  many  more  waiting 
to  be  opened. 

"  All  are  from  people  who  have  read  my  letter,"  he  said. 
"They  share  with  me  in  the  new  faith  of  a  new  humanity. 
Happy  is  the  man  who  strikes  the  note  of  leading  at  the  right 
moment.  Happy  he  who  lights  the  lamp  just  when  the  darkness 
is  beginning  to  be  felt.  Yes,  young  lady,  you  are  not  the  only 
one  who  has  been  drawn  towards  the  doctrines  of  that  letter. 
But  I  have  no  time  to  write  to  all  of  them.  A  letter  makes  one 
convert — a  paragraph  may  make  a  thousand." 

Elsie  rose  from  her  chair.  She  had  decided  on  her  line.  You 
have  heard  that  her  voice  was  curiously  soft  and  winning  ;  a  voice 
that  charms;  a  voice  which  would  soothe  a  wild  creature,  and  fill 
a  young  man's  heart  with  whatever  passion  she  chose  to  awaken. 
She  had,  besides,  those  soft  eyes  which  make  men  surrender  their 
secrets,  part  with  their  power  and  their  strength.  Did  she  know 
that  she  possessed  all  this  power? — the  girl  who  had  no  experi- 
ence save  of  one  man's  love,  an<l  that  the  mo<it  natural,  easy,  and 
unromantic  love  in  the  world,  when  two  who  arc  brought  up  side 
by  side,  and  see  each  other  every  day,  presently  catch  each  other 
by  the  hand,  and  walk  for  the  future  hand  in  hand  without  a 
word.  Yet  Delilah  herself — the  experienced,  the  crafty,  the  trained 
and  taught — could  not — did  not — act  more  cleverly  and  craftily 
than  this  artless  damsel.  To  be  sure,  she  possessed  great  advan- 
tages over  Delilah  in  the  matter  of  personal  charm. 

"  Oh  !"  she  murmured  softly,  "  it  is  a  shame  that  you  should  be 
expected  to  waste  your  valuable  time  in  writing  letters  to  these 
people.  You  must  not  do  it.  Your  time  is  wanted  for  the  world, 
not  for  individuals." 

"  It  is,"  he  replied — "  it  is.     You  have  said  it," 

"  You  are  a  master — a  leader — a  prince  in  Israel — a  preacher 
— a  prophet." 

"  I  am — I  am.  You  have  said  it.  I  should  not  myself  Iiave 
dared  to  say  it.     But  I  am." 

"  No  one  can  doubt  it  who  has  read  that  letter.  Be  my  mas- 
ter, too,  as  well  as  the  master  of — of  all  these  people  who  write 
to  you." 

"Be  your  master?"  He  blushed  like  a  boy.  "  Could  I  desire 
anything  better?" 

"  My  father  and  my  master,"  she  added,  with  a  little  change  of 


222  THE    IVORY    GATE 

color.  Girls  talcc  fn2;lit  very  easily,  and  perhaps  this  old  gentle- 
man might  interpret  the  invitation — well,  into  something  other 
than  was  meant. 

"  Yes,  yes."  He  held  out  his  hand.  She  took  it  in  licr  own 
— both  licr  own  soft  hands — and  bowed  her  head — her  comely 
head — over  it. 

"1  came  to-day,  thiidcing  only  " — oh,  Delilah  ! — *'  to  thank  you 
for  your  great  and  generous  and  noble  words,  which  have  put  fresli 
heart  into  me.  And,  now  that  I  have  thanked  you,  I  am  embold- 
ened to  ask  a  favor — " 

"  Anything,  anything." 

"  You  will  be  my  master — you  will  teach  me.  Let  me,  in  re- 
turn, relieve  you  of  this  work."  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  pile 
of  letters.  "  Let  me  answer  them  for  you.  Let  me  be  your 
private  secretary.  I  have  nothing  to  do.  Let  me  work  for 
you."  She  looked  into  his  face  with  the  sweetest  eyes  and  the 
most  winning  smile,  and  her  voice  warmed  the  old  man's  car 
like  soft  music.  Ah,  Circe !  "  Now  that  I  have  seen  you — let 
me  be  your  disciple,  your  most  humble  disciple,  and " — ah, 
siren  ! — "  let  me  be  more,  Edmund  Gray — I  cannot  say  Mr.  Gray 
— let  me  be  more,  Edmund  Gray."  She  laid  her  hand — her 
soft-gloved,  dainty,  delicate  hand — upon  his,  and  it  produced  the 
effect  of  an  electric  battery  gently  handled.  "Let  me  be  your 
secretary." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  Elsie  reached  home  that  evening,  and 
slic  refused  to  tell  them — even  her  own  brother  and  her  lover 
— where  she  had  been  or  liow  she  had  spent  her  evening. 


CHAPTER   XXHI 

MASTER     AND     DISCIPLE 


It  was  Sunday  afternoon  in  Gray's  Inn.  The  new  disciple 
sat  at  the  feet  of  the  master,  her  Gamaliel ;  one  does  not  know 
exactly  the  attitude  adopted  by  a  young  rabbi  of  old,  but  in  this 
case  the  disciple  sat  in  a  low  chair,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap, 
curiously  and  earnestly  watching  the  master  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  preaching  and  teaching. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  223 

"  Master,"  she  aslccd,  "  liavc  you  always  preached  and  held 
these  doctrines?" 

"  Not  always.     There  was  a  time  when  I  dwelt  in  darkness 
like  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  IIow  did  you  learn  these  things  ?     By  reading  books  ?"' 
"No.     I  discovered  them.     I  worked  tlicni  out  for  myself  by 
logic,  by  reason,  and  by  observation.     Everything  good  and  true 
must  be  discovered  by  a  man  for  himself." 

"What  did  you  believe  in  that  old  time?  Was  it,  with  the 
rest  of  the  world,  the  sacredness  of  property  ?" 

"  Perhaps,"  He  stood  in  front  of  her,  laying  liis  riglit  fore- 
finger in  his  left  forefinger  and  inclining  his  head.  "My  dear 
young  scholar,  one  who  believes  as  I  believe,  not  with  half  a 
heart,  but  wholly  and  without  reserve,  willingly  forgets  the  time 
when  he  was  as  yet  groping  blindly  in  darkness  or  walking  in 
artificial  light.  He  wishes  to  forget  that  time.  There  is"  no 
profit  in  remembering  that  time.  I  have  so  far  drilled  and 
trained  myself  not  to  remember  that  time  that  I  have  in  fact 
clean  forgotten  it.  I  do  not  remember  what  I  thought  or  what 
I  said,  or  with  whom  I  associated  in  that  time.  It  is  a  most 
blessed  forgetfulness.  I  dare  say  I  could  recover  the  memory  of 
it  if  I  wished,  but  the  effort  would  be  painful.  Sparc  me.  The 
recovery  of  that  part  would  be  humiliating.  Spare  me,  scholar. 
Yet,  if  you  wish — if  you  command — " 

"Oh!  no,  no!  Forgive  me."  Elsie  touched  his  hand.  He 
took  licrs,  and  held  it.  Was  it  with  a  little  joy  or  a  little  fear 
that  the  girl  observed  the  power  she  already  had  over  him?  "I 
would  not  cause  you  pain.     Desides— what  docs  it  matter?" 

"  You  know,  my  child,  when  the  monk  assumes  the  tonsure 
and  the  triple  cord,  he  leaves  behind  him,  outside  the  cell,  all  the 
things  of  the  world— ambition,  love,  luxury,  the  pride  of  the  eye 
—all— all.  He  forgets  everything;  he  casts  away  everything; 
he  abandons  everything  —  for  meditation  and  prayer.  The 
monk,"  added  the  sage,  "  is  a  foolish  person,  because  his  medi- 
tation advances  not  the  world  a  whit.  I  am  like  the  monk,  save 
that  I  think  for  the  world  instead  of  myself.  And  so,  spendin^r 
days  and  nights  in  meditation,  I  know  not  what  went  before— 
nor  do  I  care.  It  is  a  second  birth  when  the  new  faith  takes  you 
and  holds  you  together,  so  that  you  care  for  nothing  else.  Oh, 
child !  upon  you  also  this  shall  come— this  obsession— this  pos- 


224  THE    IVORY    GATE 

session — so  that  your  spirit  sliall  know  of  no  time  but  that  spent 
in  the  service  of  the  cause.  Nay,  I  go  so  far  that  I  forget  from 
day  to  day  what  passed,  except  when  I  was  actively  engaged  for 
the  cause.  Yesterday  I  was  here  in  tlic  afternoon.  You  came. 
\Ve  talked.  You  offered  yourself  as  my  disciple.  I  remember 
every  word  you  said.  Could  I  ever  forget  a  disciple  so  trustful 
and  so  liumble?  But  before  you  came,  where  was  I?  Doubt- 
less licre — meditating.  ]>ut  I  know  not.  Then  there  are  things 
which  one  must  do  to  live — breakfast,  dinner — of  these  I  remem- 
ber nothing.  Why  should  I  ?  It  is  a  great  gift  and  reward  to 
me  that  1  should  not  remember  unnecessary  things — low  and 
common  things.     Why  should  I  try  to  do  so?" 

"  No,  no,"  murmured  the  catechumen,  carried  away  by  his 
earnestness.  "Best  forget  them.  Best  live  altogether  in  and 
for  the  cause."  Yet — she  wondered — how  was  she  to  bring 
things  home  to  him  unless  he  could  be  made  to  remember?  He 
was  mad  one  hour  and  sano  the  next.  How  should  she  bridge 
the  gulf,  and  make  the  madman  cross  over  to  the  other  side? 

The  master  took  her  hand  in  his  and  held  it  paternally.  "  Wo 
needed  such  a  disci[)le  as  you,"  he  went  on,  slightly  bending  his 
head  over  her.  "  Among  my  followers  there  is  earnestness  with- 
out understanding.  They  believe  in  the  good  time,  but  they  arc 
impatient.  Tiiey  want  revolution,  which  is  terrific  and  destroys. 
I  want  conviction.  There  are  times  wlien  a  great  idea  flies  abroad 
like  the  flame  througli  the  stubble.  But  men's  minds  must  first 
be  so  prepared  that  they  are  ready  for  it.  The  world  is  not  yet 
ready  for  my  idea,  and  I  am  old,  and  may  die  too  soon  to  sec  the 
sudden  rise  of  tlie  mighty  flood,  when  that  doctrine  sliall  suddenly 
cease  in  all  mankind.  We  need  disciples.  Above  all,  we  need 
women.  Why  do  women,  I  wonder,  throw  themselves  away  in 
imitating  man,  when  there  are  a  thousand  things  that  they  can 
do  better  than  any  man?  I  want  women  —  young,  beautiful, 
faithful.  I  can  find  work  for  hundreds  of  women.  Ilypatia 
would  be  worth  to  me — to  us — far  more  than  he  of  the  golden 
mouth.  Child !  your  sweet  voice,  your  sweet  face,  your  sweet 
eyes — I  want  them.  I  will  take  them  and  use  them — expend 
them — for  the  great  cause.  It  may  be  that  you  will  be  called 
upon  to  become  the  first  martyr  of  the  cause.  Ilypatia  was 
murdered  by  a  raging  mob.  You  will  have  against  you  a  mob 
worse  than  any  of  Alexandria.    You  will  have  a  mob  composed  of 


THE    IVORY    GATE  225 

all  those  who  are  rich,  and  all  wbo  •want  to  be  rich,  and  all  the 
servile  crews  at  thcii'  comraand.  Happy  girl !  You  will  be  torn 
to  pieces  for  the  cause  of  humanity.  Happy  girl !  I  see  the 
roaring,  shrieking  mob.  I  see  your  slender  figure  on  the  steps 
— what  steps?  Where?  I  hear  your  voice,  clear  and  high. 
You  are  preaching  to  them  ;  they  close  in  round  you ;  you  dis- 
appear— they  have  dragged  you  down ;  they  trample  the  life 
out  of  you.  You  are  dead — dead !  and  a  name  forever.  And 
the  cause  has  had  its  martyr." 

It  was  strange.  She  who  had  offered  herself  as  a  disciple  with 
deception  in  her  heart,  thinking  only  to  watch  and  wait  and  spy 
until  she  could  sec  her  way  plain  before  her,  who  knew  that  she 
was  listening  to  the  voice  and  the  dreams  of  a  madman,  yet 
she  was  carried  away — he  made  her  see  the  mob;  she  saw  herself 
dragged  down  and  trampled  under  their  heels.  She  shuddered, 
yet  she  was  exultant;  her  eyes  glowed  with  a  new  light;  she 
murmured,  "Yes,  yes.  Do  with  me  what  you  please.  I  am 
your  disciple,  and  I  will  be  your  martyr  if  you  please." 

Great  and  wonderful  is  the  power  of  enthusiasm.  You  sec, 
it  matters  nothing — nothing  in  the  world — what  a  man  has  to 
preach  and  teach — whether  he  advocates  Obi  or  telepathy,  or 
rapping,  or  spirits  who  hide  teacups  in  coat-pockets — it  matters 
nothing  that  there  is  neither  common-sense  nor  evidence  nor 
common  reason  to  back  him,  if  he  only  possess  the  magnetic 
power,  he  will  create  a  following;  he  will  have  disciples  who  will 
follow  him  to  the  death.  What  is  it — this  power?  It  makes 
the  orator,  the  poet,  the  painter,  the  novelist,  the  dramatist ;  it 
makes  the  leader  of  men ;  it  made  the  first  king,  the  first  priest, 
tiie  first  conqueror. 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  "the  time  passes.  I  must 
take  you  to  my  place." 

They  walked  out  together,  master  and  scholar.  The  man 
who  was  mad  walked  carelessly  and  buoyantly ;  his  coat  flying 
open ;  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  the  other  brandishing  hi^  walking- 
stick ;  his  head  thrown  back;  his  face  full  of  light,  and,  though 
his  words  were  sometimes  strong,  always  full  of  kindness.  Now 
the  sane  man,  the  man  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  wore  his  coat  tightly 
buttoned,  walked  with  a  firm,  precise  step,  looked  straight  before 
him,  and  showed  the  face  of  one  wholly  occupied  with  his  own 
thoughts.  There  was  a  man  who  was  mad  and  a  man  who  was 
10* 


22G  THE    IVORY    GATE 

sane,  and  certainly  the  madman  was  the  more  interesting  of  tho 
two. 

"This  place,"  said  the  master,  meaniiiLi;  Gray's  Tun,  "is  en- 
tirely tilled  with  those  who  live  by  and  for  the  defence  of  prop- 
erty. They  absorb  and  devour  a  vast  portion  of  it  while  they 
defend  it.  No  one,  you  see,  defends  it  unless  ho  is  paid  for  it. 
Your  country,  your  family,  your  honor  —  you  will  defend  for 
nothinj^;  but  not  another  man's  property — no.  For  that  you 
must  be  paid.  Every  year  it  becomes  more  necessary  to  defend 
property ;  every  year  the  hordes  of  mercenaries  increase.  Hero 
they  are  lawyers,  and  lawyers'  clerks — a  vast  multitude.  Out- 
side there  are  fiicnts,  brokers,  insurers,  financiers — I  know  not 
what  —  all  defending  property.  They  produce  nothing,  these 
armies;  they  take  their  toll;  they  devour  a  part  of  what  other 
people  have  prod  need  before  they  hand  on  the  residue  to  the 
man  who  says  it  i-^  his  property." 

"  Oh  I" — but  Elsie  did  not  say  this  aloud — "  if  these  words 
could  only  be  heard  in  Lincoln's  Inn!  If  they  could  be  repeated 
to  a  certain  lawyer."  From  time  to  time  she  looked  at  him 
curiouslv.  How  if  he  sliould  suddenly  return  to  his  senses? 
AVhat  would  he  think  ?  IIow  should  she  explain  ?  "  Mr.  Dering, 
you  have  been  off  your  liead.  You  have  been  talking  the  most 
blasphemous  tilings  about  property.  You  would  never  believe 
that  even  in  madness  you  could  say  such  things."  No,  he  never 
would  believe  it — never.  He  could  not  believe  it.  What  if  his 
brother.  Sir  Samuel,  were  to  hear  those  words?  Meantime,  the 
apostle  walked  along  unconscious,  filled  with  his  great  mission. 
Oh,  heavens!  that  Mr.  Dering — Mr.  Dering — should  believe  ho 
bad  a  mission  ! 

The  master  stopped  a  passing  tram-car.  "  Let  us  climb  up  to 
the  roof,"  he  said.  "There  we  can  talk  ai»d  breathe  and  look 
about  us,  and  sometimes  we  can  listen." 

On  the  seat  in  front  of  them  sat  two  young  men,  almost  boys, 
talking  together  eagerly.  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  leaned  forward,  and 
listened  shamelessly.  "They  are  two  young  atheists,"  he  said — 
"  they  are  cursing  religion.  There  is  to  be  a  discussion  this 
evening  at  Battle  Arches  between  a  Christian  and  an  Atheist,  and 
they  are  going  to  assist.  They  should  be  occupied  with  the 
question  of  the  day ;  they  cannot,  because  they,  too,  are  paid 
defenders   of  property.      They   arc  lawyers'  clerks.      They   arc 


THE    IVORY    GATE  227 

poor,  and  tlicy  arc  slaves ;  all  their  lives  tliey  will  be  slaves,  and 
tliey  will  be  poor.  Instead  of  fighting  against  slavery  and  poverty, 
which  they  know  and  feel,  they  fight  against  the  unknown  and 
the  unintelligible.     Pity!     Pity!" 

They  passed  two  great  railway  termini,  covering  an  immense 
area  with  immense  buildings. 

"Now,"  said  the  sage,  "there  are  millions  of  property  invested 
in  railways.  Whenever  the  railway  servants  please  they  can 
destroy  all  that  property  at  a  stroke.  Perhaps  you  will  live  to 
see  this  done." 

"But,"  said  Elsie,  timidly,  "we  must  have  things  carried  up 
and  down  the  country." 

"  Certainly.  We  shall  go  on  carrying  things  up  and  down  the 
country,  but  not  in  the  interests  of  property." 

The  tram  ran  past  the  stations  and  under  broad  railway  arches, 
called  battle  arches — where  the  two  young  atheists  got  down, 
eager  for  the  fray,  always  renewed  every  Sunday  afternoon  with 
the  display  of  much  intellectual  skill  and  much  ignorance.  It  is 
a  duel  from  which  both  combatants  retire,  breathed  and  flushed, 
proud  of  having  displayed  so  much  smartness,  both  claiming  the 
victory,  surrounded  by  admiring  followers,  and  neither  of  them 
killed,  neither  of  them  hurt,  neither  of  them  a  bit  the  worse,  and 
both  ready  to  begin  again  the  following  Sunday  with  exactly  the 
same  attack  and  exactly  the  same  defence.  There  arc  some  in- 
stitutions—Christianity, the  Church  of  England,  the  House  of 
Lords,  for  instance — which  invite  and  receive  perpetual  attacks, 
from  which  they  emerge  without  the  least  hurt,  so  far  as  one 
can  perceive.  If  they  were  all  abolished  to-morrow  what  would 
the  spouters  do  ? 

The  car  stopped  again,  and  two  girls  mounted — two  work-girls 
of  the  better  sort— not,  that  is  to  say,  the  sort  which  wears  an 
ulster  and  a  large  hat  with  a  flaming  feather  in  it— working-girls, 
dressed  quietly  and  neatly.  They  ought  to  have  been  cljeerful,' 
and  even  gay,  for  they  were  both  young,  both  good-looking,  both 
nicely  dressed,  and  it  was  Sunday  afternoon,  warm  and  sunny. 
Yet  they  were  not  cheerful  at  all.  One  of  them  was  in  a  rao-e 
royal,  and  the  other,  her  friend,  was  in  a  rage  sympathetic— quite 
a  real  rage.  They  were  talking  loudly  on  the  curb  while  they 
waited  for  the  tram ;  they  carried  on  their  conversation  as  they 
climbed  the  stair;  they  continued  it  while  they  chose  a  seat,  and 


228  THE   lYOnv   GATE 

before  they  sf^t  down,  without  tlio  least  rei^ard  to  those  who  sat 
near  them — whetlicr  they  overheard,  or  wished  not  to  hear,  or 
anything.  They  were  wholly  occupied  with  themselves  and  their 
rat;e  and  their  narrative.  Tbey  neither  saw  nor  heeded  any  one 
else — which  is  the  way  tliat  the  anj^ry  woman  has. 

"So  I  told  her — I  up  and  told  her,  I  did.  *  Yes,'  I  scz, 
'you  and  your  fifteen  hours  a  day  and  overtime,'  I  sez;  'and 
your  fines — so  as  to  rob  the  poor  girls  of  their  money ;  and  your 
fitinkin'  little  room,  as  isn't  fit  for  two,  let  alone  a  dozen;  and  your 
fiarin'  gas,'  I  sez,  'to  choke  us  and  {)oison  us;  and  your  din- 
nei-s — yah  !  your  dinner,'  I  scz — '  fit  for  pigs  ;  and  your  beast 
of  a  husband  coinin'  round  with  his  looks  and  his  leers — ' 
'  You  let  my  husband  alone,'  she  sez.  '  His  looks  and  his  leers,' 
I  sez;  'some  day  the  girls'll  take  him  out  and  drowiid  liirii, 
hc.id-first,  in  the  gutter,'  I  sez — '  and  a  good  job  too  !'  " 

"You  didn't  say  all  tliat,  Liz?"  asked  the  other  admiringly. 
"  My  !  AVhat  'd  she  say  to  that  ?  Her  '  beast  of  a  husband  ?'  And 
'  his  looks  and  his  leers?'  Did  you  really,  Liz — and  her  that  jeal- 
ous ?" 

"I  did.  Oh!  I  let  her  hear  it.  For  once  she  did  iiavc  it. 
Then  I  took  ray  money,  and  I  went  off.  Never  mind  what  she 
called  me — that  don't  matter.     She  got  the  truth  for  once." 

"What  do  you  make  of  this,  disciple?"  asked  the  master. 

"  It  seems  a  quarrel  between  the  girl  and  her  employer." 

"These  arc  the  makers  of  property.  They  arc  not  the  soldiers 
wlio  defend  it.  They  arc  those  who  create  it.  The  girls  arc  cm- 
I)loyed  by  the  sweater,  who  stands  on  the  lowest  rung  of  the  lad- 
der of  property  and  steals  the  things  as  fast  as  they  arc  made." 

"One  of  them  has  been  turned  out.  Wiiat  will  she  do  ?  Will 
she  find  anotlier  place?" 

"  I  don't  know.  What  becomes  of  the  young  ?  It  is  a  difficult 
question.  No  one  knows.  Some  say  this,  and  some  say  that. 
Wc  know  what  becomes  of  the  old  when  they  arc  turned  out — 
they  die.  But  as  for  the  young  I  know  not.  You  are  young, 
and  vou  are  a  woman.  Go  among  the  young  women  who  have 
been  turned  out,  and  find  out  for  yourself — for  the  world — what 
does  become  of  them." 

They  passed  an  immense  churchyard,  with  an  ancient  church 
standing  in  the  midst — the  churchyard  now  cleared  of  its  head- 
stones and  converted  into  a  beautiful  garden  after  the  modem 


THE    IVORY    GATE  229 

fashion,  in  which  wc  liavc  abandoned  the  pretence  of  remember- 
ing tlie  dead,  and  plant  flowers  and  turf  above  their  graves  for  the 
sokice  of  tlie  living.  Why  not?  Let  the  nameless  dead  be  re- 
membered by  the  nameless  dead.  Their  virtues,  if  they  had  any, 
may  live  after  them  in  their  descendants. 

"See,"  said  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  moralizing — "here  they  lie, 
those  who  are  soldiers  of  property  and  those  who  arc  slaves  of 
[iroperty.  They  are  mostly  the  poor  of  their  parish  who  lie  in 
that  garden.  No  headstones  mark  their  graves.  They  were  born  ; 
they  toiled  for  others  to  enjoy;  and  they  died.  Is  this  the  life 
that  men  should  most  desire?" 

"  Nay,"  said  the  disciple.  "  But  there  must  be  strong  and 
weak — clever  and  dull ;  there  must  be  inequalities." 

"  Yes.  Inequalities  of  gifts.  One  man  is  stronger,  one  is 
sharper,  one  is  cleverer,  than  another.  Formerly,  those  gifts  were 
used  to  make  their  possessor  richer  and  more  powerful.  The 
strong  man  got  followers,  and  made  slaves.  The  clever  man 
clicated  the  dull  man  out  of  his  land  and  his  liberty.  Hence- 
forth, these  gifts  will  be  used  for  the  general  good.  Patience! 
You  shall  understand  all  in  good  time." 

He  stopped  the  tram,  and  they  descended. 

Lying  cast  of  the  Ilampstead  Road  and  Camden  High  Street — 
and  boimded  on  that  side  by  the  canal,  the  great  space  occupied 
by  the  Midland  and  Great  Northern  Goods  Depot,  by  gas-works, 
wharves,  and  railway  arches — there  is  a  network  of  streets  very 
little  known  to  any  but  the  parish  clergy.  No  part  of  London  is 
less  interesting  than  this  district.  It  used  to  be  called  Somers 
Town,  but  I  think  that  the  old  name  has  almost  died  out.  It  is 
about  a  hundred  years  old,  regarded  as  a  settlement;  it  possesses 
three  churches  at  least,  two  workhouses,  one  almshouse,  and  three 
burial-grounds  turned  into  gardens.  It  is  also  cheered  by  the 
presence  of  a  coal  depot.  Many  small  industries  are  carried  on  in 
this  quarter;  there  are  many  lodging-houses ;  the  streets  are  rather 
grimy,  the  houses  are  rather  shabby,  the  people  are  rather  slipsliod. 
They  are  not  criminals;  they  are,  in  a  way,  respectable — that  is  to 
say,  tolerably  respectable.  It  is  not  a  picturesque  suburb  ;  dull- 
ness reigns ;  it  is  a  dull,  a  dull,  a  dismally  dull  quarter.  There  are 
children,  but  they  lack  mirth  ;  and  young  girls,  but  they  lack  the 
spring  of  youth;  one  would  say  that  there  was  a  low  standard  in 
everything,  even  in  the  brightness  of  dress.     The  place  looks  bet- 


230  THE    IVORY    GATE 

tcr  in  winter  than  in  summer.  To-day  the  bright  sunshine  only 
made  the  shabbiness  of  the  streets  more  shabby, 

"  Is  your  place  here  ?"  asked  Elsie. 

"Yes,  it  is  here.  You  wonder  why  I  came  here.  Because  the 
people  here  are  not  all  working-people.  Some  of  them  are  small 
employers — those  of  whom  1  spoke — who  stand  on  the  lowest 
rung  of  the  ladder  and  steal  the  things  as  fast  as  they  are  made, 
and  take  toll,  and  hoard  them  up.  The  working-man  is  generous 
and  open  to  others,  compared  with  these  people,  I  planted  my  place 
down  in  the  midst  of  them.     But  you  shall  see — you  shall  sec." 

It  was  like  a  dream.  Elsie  walked  beside  her  conductor.  Yes- 
terday she  made  the  acquaintance  of  this  man  for  the  first  time; 
slic  had  never  seen  liim  before  except  in  liis  sane  condition ;  he 
was  a  madman — a  real,  dangerous  madman — stark,  staring  mad; 
he  was  taking  her  she  knew  not  where — to  some  place  among 
strange  people;  she  walked  beside  him  without  the  least  fear — 
slic  who  would  have  fled  before  the  most  harmless  lunatic ;  and 
she  was  going  with  him  as  his  disciple, 

**  George,"  she  said  afterwards,  "  I  do  not  know  how  it  hap- 
pened. 1  could  not  choose  but  go  with  him.  I  could  not  choose 
but  to  become  liis  disciple — he  compelled  me,  I  lost  my  will,  I 
even  forgot  that  he  was  a  madman  ;  I  gave  up  my  reason  and  all ; 
I  followed  him,  and  I  believed  all  that  he  told  me.  How  did  be 
get  that  power  ?  Directly  I  left  him  I  became  myself  again.  I 
perceived  the  mad  enthusiast.  I  saw  Mr.  Dering  caricatured,  and 
proclaiming  foolishness.  But  in  his  presence  I  was  his  servant 
and  his  slave." 

**  Ilcrc  we  are,"  he  said.     "  This  is  my  place.     Lot  us  go  in." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    HALL    OF    THE    NEW    FAITH 


The  place,  as  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  modestly  called  it,  was  a  meek 
and  unpretending  structure.    The  word  is  used  advisedly,  because 


THE    IVORY    GATE  231 

no  one  could  call  it  anytliinf;  else — not  an  edifice;  not  a  build- 
ing; a  structure.  It  turned  its  gabled  front  to  the  street,  with  a 
door  below  and  a  window  above.  It  was  of  gray  brick,  with  a 
slate  roof — a  very  plain  and  simple  structure.  It  might  liavc 
been  a  Primitive  Methodist  chapel — this  connection  are  fond  of 
such  neat  and  unpretending  places ;  or  a  room  belonging  to  the 
Salvation  Army ;  or  one  of  those  queer  lecture-halls  affected  by 
secularists,  and  generally  called  the  Hall  of  Science.  On  the  door- 
post was  affixed  a  small  handbill,  announcing  that  every  Sunday 
evening  at  seven  o'clock  an  address  would  be  pronounced  by  Ed- 
mund Gray,  on  the  subject  of  "  Property."  On  the  same  bill,  be- 
low the  line  of  the  principal  title,  were  suggestive  sub-titles.    Thus, 

"  Property  and  its  Origin." 
"  Property  and  its  Evils." 
"  Property  and  its  Dangers." 
"  Property  and  Liderty." 
"Property  and  Progress." 
"  Property  and  its  Decay." 

The  master  pointed  to  the  bill.  "  Read  it,"  lie  said.  "There 
you  have  ray  mission  clearly  announced.  No  mistake  about  it.  A 
bold  pronouncement,  which  cannot  be  mistaken.  I  make  war 
against  property.  I  am  the  enemy  irreconcilable — the  enemy  to 
the  death — of  property.  I  am  almost  alone  against  the  world, 
for  my  followers  are  a  feeble  folk  and  without  power.  All  the 
interests,  all  the  prejudices,  all  the  powers,  all  the  intellect  of  the 
whole  world  are  against  me.  I  stand  alone.  But  I  fear  nothing, 
because  the  future  is  given  over  to  me  and  to  mine — yea,  thourrh 
I  do  not  live  to  see  the  day  of  victory."' 

lie  opened  the  door,  and  Elsie  entered.  She  found  herself  in 
a  room  about  si.\ty  feet  long  by  twenty  broad,  and  lofty — a  fine 
and  goodly  room.  It  was  furnished  with  a  long  and  narrow  tabic 
running  down  the  middle,  and  a  few  benches.  Nothing  else.  The 
table  was  laid  with  a  white  cloth,  and  provided  with  plates  of  ham 
and  beef,  cold  sausages,  hard-boiled  eggs,  cakes,  toast,  muffins, 
bread  and  butter,  marmalade,  jam,  shrimps,  water-cresses,  and  tea- 
cups.    In  fact,  there  was  spread  out  a  tea  of  generous  proportions. 

The  room  was  half  filled  with  thirty  or  forty  people,  mostly 
young,  though  there  were  some  elderly  men.  Among  them  Elsie 
remarked,  withuut  surprise,  the  decayed  barrister  of  Gray's  Inn. 


232  THE    IVORT    GATE 

Perhaps  be  was  attracted  as  much  by  the  loaves  as  by  the  sermon. 
Three  quarters  of  them  were  young  men.  Elsie  noticed  that  they 
were  young  men  of  a  curious  type — their  faces  keen,  their  eyes 
hard,  their  manner  aggressive.  They  belonged  to  a  church  mili- 
tant. They  longed  to  be  fighting.  On  the  appearance  of  their 
preacher  they  flocked  about  him,  shaking  hands  and  inquiring 
after  his  liealth.  At  least,  therefore,  he  had  the  affection  of  his 
followers. 

*' My  friends,"  said  the  prophet,  "I  bring  you  a  new  disciple. 
She  comes  to  us  from  the  very  stronghold  of  property.  Her 
friends" — yet  he  had  shown  no  sign  of  recognition — "arc  cither 
those  wlio  pillage  the  producer,  or  those  who  rob  the  possessor  on 
pretence  of  defending  him.  She  is  at  present  only  a  recruit.  She 
comes  to  listen  and  to  learn.  She  will  go  iiomc  to  remember  and 
to  meditate.    She  is  a  recruit  now,  who  will  be  hereafter  a  leader." 

The  people  received  her  with  curiosity.  They  were  not  of  the 
higher  classes,  to  put  it  mil<lly,  and  they  had  never  had  a  young 
lady  among  them  before.  Two  or  three  girls  who  were  present — 
girls  from  the  dress-makers'  workrooms — looked  at  her  frock  with 
envy,  and  at  her  bonnet  and  her  gloves  with  a  yearning,  helpless, 
heart-sinking  admiration.  To  the  young  men  she  seemed  a  god- 
dess, unapproachable.  They  stood  at  a  distance.  Men  of  the  rank 
above  them  would  have  worshipped — these  young  men  only  gaped. 
Such  a  girl  had  nothing  to  do  with  their  lives. 

Apparently  they  had  been  waiting  for  the  master,  for  at  the 
moment  a  stout  woman  and  a  girl  appeared,  bearing  trays  with 
teapots  and  jugs  of  hot  water,  which  they  placed  upon  the  board. 
Mr.  Edmund  Gray  took  the  chair.  Elsie  began  to  feel  like  Alice 
in  Wonderland.  She  came  to  sec  a  "  place,"  she  expected  to 
hear  a  sermon  or  a  lecture — and  behold,  a  tea ! 

"  Sit  beside  me,"  said  the  master.  "  We  begin  our  evening 
on  Sunday  with  a  simple  feast,  which  I  provide.  It  is  a  sign  of 
brotherhood.  Every  Sunday  we  begin  with  this  renewal  of  fra- 
ternity. Those  who  break  bread  together  are  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. In  the  good  time  to  come  every  meal  shall  be  in  common, 
and  every  evening  meal  shall  be  a  feast.  Eat  and  drink  with  us, 
my  daughter,  so  you  will  understand  that  you  belong  to  a  broth- 
erhood." 

"Try  some  shrimps,  miss,"  said  her  neighbor  on  the  right,  an 
elderly  man,  who  was  a  builder's  foreman. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  233 

History  docs  not  concern  itself  with  what  Elsie  took.  She 
found  the  meal  very  much  to  the  purpose  after  a  long  afternoon 
of  talk,  argument,  and  emotion.  She  was  young,  and  she  was 
hungry.  The  tea  was  good;  the  things  to  eat  were  good;  the 
cake  and  toast  were  admirable.  Elsie  ate  and  drank,  and  won- 
dered what  was  coming  next. 

After  a  little,  she  began  to  look  round  her  and  to  watch  the 
company.  There  w'cre  now,  she  counted,  forty-five  of  them — 
forty-five  disciples  of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  What  had  he  to  teach 
them  ?  The  destruction  of  property.  Out  of  the  four  millions  of 
London,  forty-five  were  found  who  wanted  to  destroy  property — 
only  forty-five.  But  perhaps  all  wlio  advocated  that  step  were 
not  present.  Her  ancient  prejudices  whispered  that  tliis  was  a 
reassuring  fact,  considering  that  the  preacher  liad  preached  his 
doctrines  for  nine  long  years.  Only  forty-five.  Ne.xt  to  her  the 
foreman  began  to  talk  to  her  of  Fourier  and  Owen  and  a  dozen 
half-forgotten  leaders  in  the  old  experiments,  lie  had  been  a 
Chartist  in  the  forties;  he  was  a  Socialist  in  these,  the  nineties; 
but  he  confessed  that  before  any  real  reform  was  attempted  prop- 
erty mu.«t  first  be  destroyed. 

"  It's  the  selfishness,"  he  whispered  earnestly,  "  that's  got  to  be 
torn  out  by  the  roots.  Take  that  away,  and  there's  a  chance  for 
the  world.  It  never  can  be  taken  away  till  a  man  finds  that  he 
can't  work  no  longer  for  himself,  and  that  he  must  work  for  all, 
whether  he  likes  it  or  lumps  it.  Don't  give  him  the  choice  nor 
the  chance,  I  say.  Take  away  property,  and  there's  neither  choice 
nor  chance  left.  You  hear  Mr.  Gray  upon  that.  Oh  !  he's  power- 
ful. What  do  they  say  ?  '  Naked  we  came  into  the  world ;  naked 
we  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.'  There's  a  wonderful  lot 
of  fine  things  hangin'  to  that.  You  must  wait  till  you  hear  Mr. 
Gray  upon  tliat  theme — kingdom  of  Heaven  !  To  hear  the  par- 
sons talk,  it's  away  above  the  clouds.  Not  so.  It's  here — close 
beside  us — on  this  earth.  All  we've  got  to  do  is  to  put  out  our 
hands  and  reach  it." 

"  You  may  put  out  your  hands  as  much  as  you  like,"  said  one 
of  the  younger  men ;  *'  but  you  won't  reach  it,  all  the  same. 
Property  stands  between." 

"At  our  place,"  said  a  girl  sitting  opposite — a  girl  of  intelli- 
gent face,  pale  and  thin — "  we  work  from  eight  till  eight,  and 
sometimes  longer,  for  twelve  shillings  a  week.      I  know  what 


234  THE    IVOUY    OATE 

things  cost,  ami  wlmt  tlicy  sell  for.  I  could  produce  enough  to 
keep  ine — ah!  a  good  deal  bettor  tliau  I  live  now — if  I  could  sell 
what  I  made  myself — for  four  hours'  work  a  day.  So  I  work 
eight  hours  a  day,  not  counting  tlie  dinner-hour,  just  to  keep  the 
boss  and  to  make  property  for  liiin.  My  property  it  is — well,  I 
know,  in  here  wc  say,  our  property  ;  outside  wc  say,  my  prop- 
erty. Where's  your  kingdom  of  Heaven,  then,  if  you  reach  out 
your  hand  ever  so  far,  so  long  as  I've  got  to  work  to  make  some- 
body else  rich?     Let's  destroy  property,  and  then  we  shall  sec." 

A  desire — a  foolish,  concealed  desire,  horn  of  prejudice — seized 
Elsie  to  argue,  for  she  perceived  in  the  girl's  reasoning  certain 
confusions  and  intricacies.  But  she  had  the  courage  to  suppress 
the  inclination;  she  refrained.  She  was  a  disciple  —  she  must 
listen. 

"I  am  a  slave,  like  all  the  rest  of  us,"  another  young  man 
remarked  cheerfully.  "  My  master  owns  me.  ITc  can  sell  mc 
if  he  likes,  only  he  calls  it  by  another  name.  lie  can't  take  a 
whip  and  lash  me,  though  lie'd  like  to,  because  if  he  did  I'd 
break  every  bone  in  his  body  for  him  ;  but  lie  can  cut  down  the 
work  and  the  money.  I  do  editing  and  reporting  for  a  local 
paper — thirty  shillings  a  week.  The  proprietor  makes  ten 
pounds  a  week  out  of  it,  and  I'm  not  allowed  to  tell  the  truth 
for  fear  of  advertisers."  lie  added  a  few  words  not  commonly 
beard  in  a  place  that  looked  like  a  chapel  on  a  Sunday  evening, 

Elsie  observed  that  their  faces  showed  two  variations  of  expres- 
sion— only  two.  The  majority  of  the  company  liad  the  eyes  of 
the  dreamer,  the  theorist,  the  enthusisist.  They  are  soft  eyes, 
and  in  repose  are  heavy,  and  they  look  through  stone  walls  into 
space,  far  away — space  where  their  dreams  are  realized,  and  men 
and  women  live  according  to  their  theories.  In  moments  of  en- 
thusiasm and  passion  they  become  flaming  fires.  These  eyes 
belonged  to  most  of  those  present.  The  rest — the  minority — 
were  those  who  are  angry  and  restless  and  eager  for  the  practical 
application  of  the  doctrine.  These  want  revolution  ;  they  are 
impatient ;  they  feel  for  themselves  the  injustices  and  oppressions 
which  enthusiasts  feel  for  others.  These  are  always  resentful ;  the 
others  are  always  hopeful.  These  want  to  convert  the  world  at 
once  with  bludgeon  and  with  gun ;  the  others  are  certain  that 
before  long  the  world  will  be  converted  by  reason.  The  one  de- 
spairs of  anything  but  force ;  the  other  will  have  no  force.     The 


THE    IVORY    GATE  235 

one  hates  liis  enemy;  lie  would  kill  him  if  lie  could;  he  has  no 
words  too  bad  for  him.  The  enthusiast,  on  the  other  hand,  regards 
his  enemy  with  pity,  and  would  at  any  moment  welcome  him, 
forgive  hira,  and — well— invite  him  to  a  fraternal  tea,  if  he  would 
only  desert  his  ranks  and  come  over.  And  tlicse  arc  the  two  divi- 
sions in  every  party,  and  such  is  the  nature  of  man  that  there 
must  always  be  these  two  divisions. 

The  fraternal  tea  finished,  tlic  company  cleared  the  tables, 
everybody  lending  a  hand,  perhaps  as  another  sign  or  pledge  of 
fraternity.  It  was  then  nearly  seven  o'clock,  the  hour  appointed 
for  the  address.  The  door  was  thrown  wide  open  for  the  admis- 
sion of  the  world,  but  there  was  no  sign  that  the  world  took  the 
least  interest  in  the  subject  of  property.  No  one  came  at  all. 
Elsie  learned  afterwards  that  the  world  outside  the  hall  had  lono- 
since  grown  tired  of  the  subject  on  which  Mr.  Gray  had  been 
preaching  for  nine  years.  Those  who  came  to  the  tea  were  the 
inner  circle  of  believers  or  disciples,  a  small  but  faithful  company, 
to  whose  members  there  was  rarely  any  addition. 

At  seven  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  rose  to  commence  liis  address, 
standing  at  the  head  of  the  table,  so  that  it  was  like  an  after- 
dinner  speech.  Outside  the  sun  was  hot  and  bright  and  the  air 
clear.  "Within  the  hall  there  were  the  mingled  odors  and  steams 
of  long-protracted  and  hearty  fraternal  tea;  tlie  air  was  heavy, 
and  the  room  dark.  When  the  master  began  to  speak  a  young 
man— one  of  the  ardent  and  wrathful  kind— drew  out  a  note- 
book and  took  everything  down  ;  all  listened  with  respect,  some 
with  rapt  interest.  Some  nodded;  some  groaned;  some  said 
"Hear"  softly — to  encourage  the  preacher,  and  to  show  their 
adhesion  to  principle. 

Elsie  sat  at  the  right  hand  of  the  speaker.  His  discourses 
moved  her  much  less  in  this  public  place  than  in  liis  chambers. 
The  persuasive  voice  was  there,  but  it  did  not  persuade  her. 
Moreover,  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes;  their  magnetism  failed 
to  touch  her.  So  much  the  better,  because  she  could  listen  with 
cool  judgment  and  watch  the  people. 

"  My  friends,"  he  began,  "  my  brothers,  and  my  sisters— we  are 
all  long  since  agreed  that  the  root  of  all  evil,  the  first  form  of 
disease,  the  first  fatal  step  that  was  leading  to  so  many  other  mis- 
chiefs, was  the  beginning  of  property.  We  have  proved  that  so 
often— we  are  all  so  entirely  agreed  upon  this  vital  principle 


236  THE    IVORY    GATE 

that  we  seldom,  and  only  on  rare  occasions,  find  it  necessary  to 
do  more  than  assume  its  Iriitli.  That  occasion,  however,  is  the 
present,  when  we  have  among  us  one  who  comes  as  a  stranjjer, 
yet  a  disciple;  one  who  lias  a  mind  open  to  the  influence  of 
reason  ;  one  who  is  anxious  to  clear  herself  of  the  prejudices  and 
absurdities  in  wjiich  she  has  been  from  infancy  brought  up.  Let 
us,  tiierefore.  briefly,  for  her  instruction  and  for  the  strengthening 
of  our  own  faith,  point  out  some  of  the  arguments  which  support 
this  position.  It  is  to  us  an  axiom.  To  the  world  it  still  requires 
proof.  And  the  world  refuses  to  accept  the  proof,  because  it  is 
given  over  to  the  chase  of  the  abominable  thing." 

lie  proceeded  to  parade  the  reasons  which  made  his  school 
regard  property  as  tlie  root  of  all  evil.  The  line  which  he  pur- 
sued was  not  new ;  many  men  have  pointed  out  before  Mr. 
Edmund  CIray  the  selfishness  of  mankind,  as  illustrated  by  the 
universal  game  of  grab;  others,  with  equal  force,  have  shown 
that  the  protection  of  things  causes  an  immense  expenditure  and 
a  great  shrinkage  in  things;  others  have  shown  that  it  is  the  con- 
tinual ellorts  of  men  to  get  without  working  the  things  for  which 
others  have  worked  that  fill  our  jails  and  keep  up  an  army  of 
police. 

"  Wc  start  with  a  false  principle,"  tlie  master  went  on,  "  which 
has  ruined  the  world,  and  still  keeps  it  down.  If  there  are  to  be 
rich  men,  they  must  become  rich  at  the  expense  of  the  rest;  they 
must  be  few,  and  the  poor  must  be  many.  Therefore,  the  pro- 
tection of  property  is  the  robbery  of  the  poor  by  law.  We  all 
know  that ;  in  this  place  we  have  agreed,  so  far,  a  thousand 
times;  the  rich  can  only  become  rich  by  robbing  the  poor;  tliey 
rob  their  land;  they  rob  their  work;  they  rob  their  whole  lives — 
and  they  are  permitted  and  encouraged  by  the  law.  Shall  we, 
then,  change  the  law  ?  No,  it  would  be  a  work  too  vast.  Shall 
we  change  the  minds  of  men?  Not  by  reason;  it  is  impossible 
by  any  argument  so  long  as  by  law  and  custom  they  can  still  rob 
the  producer  of  his  work.  The  only  way  is  to  destroy  all  prop- 
erty. When  men  can  no  longer  by  any  kind  of  thought  get 
richer  than  their  neighbors,  then  tliey  will  cease  to  tliink  for 
themselves,  and  think  for  the  whole  community.  You  will  say 
— some  one  may  object — that  some  are  not  the  same  in  strength 
of  mind  or  of  body ;  there  will  be  many,  then,  who  will  refuse  to 
work  at  all,  and  become  burdens  on  the  community.     We  have 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  237 

thought  of  that  objection.  At  first,  there  would  be  many  such, 
but  not  for  long,  because  we  should  kill  them.  Yes,  my  friends," 
he  added,  with  a  smile  of  the  sweetest  benevolence,  "for  the 
good  of  the  community  it  will  be  necessary,  without  any  senti- 
mental considerations,  to  kill  ail  those  who  refuse  to  work,  all 
those  who  shirk  their  work,  all  those  who  persistently  do 
scamped  and  bad  work.  They  must  die.  So  the  common- 
wealth shall  contain  none  but  those  who  are  vigorous,  loyal,  and 
true.  For  the  rest  death — if  it  means  the  death  of  a  million 
who  were  once  rich — death  is  the  only  escape  from  the  difficulty 
which  is  so  often  objected. 

"  It  has  been  asked  again  how  we  differ  from  the  Socialists. 
In  tliis:  We  would  begin  with  no  theories,  no  constitution,  no 
code.  Only  let  every  man  give  all  his  strength,  all  his  licart,  all 
his  mind,  to  the  good  of  the  commonwealth;  without  the  least 
power  of  enriching  himself,  saving  money — of  course,  there 
would  be  no  money ;  without  the  chance  of  getting  better  food 
and  better  clothes  than  the  rest — and  we  may  safely  leave  the 
world  to  take  care  of  itself.  Why,  my  brothers  —  why,  my 
sisters — should  we  poor,  purblind  creatures,  unable  to  compre- 
hend more  than  a  glimpse  of  that  glorious  future  which  awaits 
tho  world  when  property  shall  be  destroyed — why,  I  say,  should 
we  dare  to  lay  down  schemes  and  invent  systems  for  that  glori- 
fied humanity?  Let  us  leave  them  to  themselves.  They  will  be 
as  far  above  us,  my  brothers,  as  we  are  already  above  the  hold- 
ers and  the  defenders  of  property." 

Elsie  looked  at  the  little  gathering — five-and-forty — with  a  lit- 
tle smile.  They  were  then  already  far  above  the  liolders  and  the 
defenders  of  property,  and  again  she  thought,  "What  if  these 
words  were  heard  in  Lincoln's  Inn  'f 

"  How,  then,  can  property  be  destroyed  ?" 

At  this  practical  question  every  one  sat  upright,  coughed,  and 
looked  interested.  Their  preacher  liad  often  enough  declaimed 
upon  the  evils  of  property,  lie  seldom  spoke  of  a  practical  way. 
iVrhaps  the  time  had  come. 

"There  are,  my  friends,  several  ways.  They  are  already  be- 
ginning to  be  understood  and  to  bo  worked.  The  Irish  and  the 
politicians  who  wanted  the  Irish  vote  have  shown  the  world  how 
to  destroy  property  in  land.  Believe  me,  that  example  will  be 
followed.     It  was  an  evil  day  for  the  holders  of  i)roperty  when 


238  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  government  interfered  between  tlic  landlord  and  his  tenant. 
That  example  will  bear  fruit  elsewhere.  Wo  shall  sec  everywhere 
the  owners  of  the  land  turned  out,  and  their  places  taken  by 
those  who  work  the  land.  The  next  step  is  from  land  to  houses. 
Why  not  with  houses  as  with  land?  Since  a  beginning  lias  been 
made  it  must  be  carried  on.  But  there  is  other  property  besides 
lands  and  houses.  There  are  companies  with  shares,  railways, 
and  so  forth.  Wc  have  only  begun  to  see  what  united  labor  can 
effect — since  union  of  labor  is,  in  fact,  not  yet  begun.  When  it 
is  fairly  started  it  will  pay  small  respect  to  shareholders  and  to 
dividends.  When  wages  are  paid  there  will  be  perhaps  no  divi- 
<lend  left  at  all.  In  a  single  year — nay,  a  single  week — the 
wlioic  capital  invested  in  all  the  companies  will  lose  its  value;  it 
will  be  so  much  waste-paper.  My  friends,  we  need  not  stir  hand 
or  foot  to  bring  about  this  end;  it  will  be  done  for  us  by  the 
working-man,  and  by  those  who  follow  the  example  of  Ireland. 
They  will  do  it  for  their  own  selfish  ends  first,  but  property  once 
destroyed  we  shall  never  again  allow  it  to  be  created. 

"  Oh  !" — he  warmed  with  his  subject ;  his  voice  grew  more  musi- 
cal ;  his  face  glowed — "  I  sec  a  splendid — a  noble  sight.  I  see 
the  great  houses  in  the  country  fallen  to  ruin  and  decay ;  their 
contents  are  stored  in  museums;  the  great  palaces  of  the  towns 
are  pulled  down;  the  towns  themselves  arc  decayed  and  shrunk; 
there  is  no  property;  there  is  no  one  working  for  himself;  the 
man  of  science  works  ins  laboratory  for  the  community — but  he 
has  the  honor  of  his  discoveries;  the  medical  man  pursues  his 
work  with  no  thought  of  getting  rich  ;  there  is  plenty  to  go  the 
round  of  everything — oh !  plenty  of  the  best.  We  can  have 
what  we  like,  do  what  we  like,  dress  as  we  like,  teach  what  we 
please — provided  we  work  for  the  State.  If  we  refuse — deatli ! 
If  we  give  bad  work — death  !  It  is  the  only  law.  We  sliall 
have  no  lawyers — no  power — no  magistrates.  Oh  !  great  and 
glorious  time — you  shall  see  it,  you  who  are  young — yes,  you 
shall  see  it — while  I — I — I — who  have  dreamed  of  the  time  so 
lonfj — I  shall  lie  low  in  the  grave.  What  matter — so  the  time 
come,  and  so  the  world  rises  free  at  last  to  follow  out  the  destiny 
of  a  new  and  glorified  humanity  ?" 

He  sat  down,  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  hand  as  one  in  prayer. 
They  remained  in  silence  till  he  raised  his  head.  Then  the  young 
man  who  had  called  attention  to  his  blavery  spoke. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  239 

**  There  is,  perhaps,  another  way,"  he  said,  "  wliich  might  do  the 
job  for  us.  Suppose  tlie  chemists  were  to  find  out  how  to  pro- 
duce food — food  of  any  kind — artificially — just  as  good  and  as 
nourisliing  as  if  it  were  butchcr-mcat  or  bread.  Suppose  it  could 
be  produced  dirt  cheap — most  chemists'  things  cost  nothing. 
Then  no  one  would  need  to  work,  because  he'd  have  his  food 
found  fur  him.  If  no  one  would  need  to  work,  no  one  could  get 
rich  any  more.  And  if  no  one  wanted  to  buy  anything,  nobody 
could  soil.  Then  riches  wouldn't  count,  and  there  you  are.  Let's 
get  a  chemist  to  take  the  thing  up." 

The  conversation  that  followed  struck  out  new  ideas.  Pres- 
ently it  flagged,  and  one  by  one  the  people  stoic  away. 

The  master  and  the  disciple  returned  in  the  tram  as  far  as 
Gray's  Inn. 

The  master  fell  into  profound  silence  a  quarter  of  an  hour  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  journey.  When  they  got  down,  Elsie  ob- 
served, first,  that  he  buttoned  his  coat;  next,  that  lie  put  on 
gloves;  thirdly,  that  he  pulled  his  hat  forward;  and,  lastly,  that 
he  ignored  her  presence.  lie  drew  himself  erect,  and  walked 
away,  with  firm  and  precise  step,  in  the  direction  of  Bedford 
Row,  which  is  on  the  other  side  of  Gray's  Inn.  lie  was  once 
n»ore  Mr.  Edward  Bering. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Elsie,  "  how  much,  to-morrow,  he  will  recol- 
lect?" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CAN     HE     REMEMDEK? 


It  was  past  ten  o'clock  that  Sunday  evening  when  Elsie  arrived 
home.  Athelstan  and  George  were  waiting  up  for  her.  "  Ai^ain 
the  mysterious  appointment  ?"  asked  the  former.  "  Are  we  to 
know  anything  yet  ?"  Elsie  shook  her  head.  "  Not  to-night  ? 
Very  good.     You  look  tired,  Elsie." 

"  I  am  tired,  thank  you.  And — and  I  think  I  would  rather  not 
talk  to-night.  I  will  go  to  my  own  room.  Have  patience,  both 
of  you,  for  a  day  or  two  longer.  Believe  me,  everything  is  foing 
Wfll.      The  only  rc:ison  why  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  have  been 


240  THE    IVORY    GATE 

doini;  is  that  it  is  so  strange — so  wonderful — that  I  have  not  been 
able  even  to  shape  it  into  words  in  n)y  own  mind.  "What  is  to- 
days—the 1st  of  August?" 

"Only  eleven  days  yet — eleven  long  days,"  said  George,  "but 
also  eleven  short  days." 

"  I  do  not  forget.  Well,  you  may  both  of  you  sit  down — go 
about  your  business — you  need  do  nothing  more.  As  for  me,  I 
think  you  will  have  to  get  on  without  me  every  evening  this  week. 
But  be  fjuite  easy.  The  thing  is  done."  And  with  that,  nodding 
and  laughing,  she  ran  out  of  the  room. 

"  It  is  done,"  repeated  George.  "The  thing  is  done.  Which 
thing?" 

"  It  is  done,"  repeated  Athelslan.  "  What  is  done  ?  How  was 
it  done?     Who  did  it  ?     When  was  it  done?" 

"  Since  Elsie  says  it  is  done,  I  am  bound  to  accept  her  assur- 
ance. Presumably  she  has  caught  old  Checkley  at  South  Square, 
in  the  very  act.  Never  mind  ;  I  am  quite  sure  that  Elsie  knows 
what  she  says." 

In  her  own  retreat  Elsie  sat  down  to  consider. 

If  you  think  of  it  she  had  a  good  deal  to  consider.  She  had, 
in  fact,  a  tremendous  weapon,  an  eighty -ton  AVoolwich,  in  her 
possession — a  thing  wliich  had  to  be  handled  so  that  when  it  was 
fired  it  should  not  produce  a  general  massacre.  All  those  who 
liad  maligned  and  spoken  and  thought  evil  of  her  brother  and 
lier  lover  should,  she  thought,  be  laid  prostrate  by  the  mere  [)uflf 
and  whiff  of  the  discharge.  Checkley  should  fall  backwards,  and 
raise  a  bump  at  the  back  of  his  head  as  big  as  an  egg.  Sir  Sam- 
uel and  Hilda  should  be  tumbled  down  in  the  most  ignominious 
fashion,  just  as  if  they  had  no  money  at  all.  And  her  mother 
should  be  forced  to  cry  out  that  she  had  been  wrong  and  hasty. 

She  held  in  her  own  hands  nothing  less  than  the  complete  de- 
molition of  all  this  erection  of  suspicion  and  malignity — nothing 
less.  She  could  restore  to  her  brother  that  which  he  had  never 
lost,  save  in  the  eyes  of  his  own  people,  who  should  have  been 
the  most  jealous  to  preserve  it.  No  greater  service  could  be  ren- 
dered to  him.  And  she  could  clear  from  her  lover's  name  what- 
ever shreds  and  mists  had  been  gathered  round  it  by  the  indus- 
trious breath  of  Checkley — that  humble  cloud  compeller.  You 
see,  we  all  have  this  much  of  Zeus  in  us,  even  in  the  compelling 
of  clouds — every  man,  by  the  exercise  of  a  little  malignity,  a  little 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  241 

insinuation,  and  a  few  falsehoods,  can  raise  quite  a  considerable 
mist  about  the  head,  or  the  name,  or  the  figure,  or  the  reputation 
of  any  one.  Women — some  women,  that  is — are  constantly  en- 
gaged in  this  occupation;  and  after  they  have  been  at  their  work 
it  is  sometimes  hard  for  the  brightest  sunshine  to  melt  those  mists 
away. 

To  be  able  to  clear  away  clouds  is  a  great  thing.  Besides  this, 
Elsie  had  found  out  what  the  rest  had  failed  to  find  out — and  by 
the  simplest  method.  She  had  learned  from  the  only  person  who 
knew  at  what  hour  she  should  be  most  likely  to  find  the  myste- 
rious Edmund  Gray,  and  she  had  then  waited  on  the  stairs  until 
he  came.  No  method  more  direct,  yet  nobody  thought  of  it 
except  herself.  She  had  done  it.  As  the  result,  there  was  no 
longer  any  mystery.  The  man  who  forged  the  first  check,  the 
man  who  wrote  those  letters  and  conducted  their  transfer,  was,  as 
they  all  thought  at  first,  Edmund  Gray.  No  other.  And  Ed- 
mund Gray  was  Edward  Dcring — one  and  the  same  person — and 
Edward  Dcring  was  a  madman,  and  this  discovery  it  was  which 
so  profoundly  impressed  her.  There  were  no  confederates ;  there 
was  no  one  wanted  to  intercept  the  post ;  no  one  had  tampered 
with  the  safe ;  the  chief  himself  had  received  the  letters  and 
conducted  the  correspondence  alternately  as  Edmund  Gray  him- 
self, or  Edmund  Gray  acting  unconsciously  for  Edward  Dcring. 

Perfectly  impossible — perfectly  simple — perfectly  intelligible. 
As  for  the  impossibility,  a  fact  may  remain  when  its  impossibil- 
ity is  established.  Elsie  was  not  a  psychologist  or  a  student  of 
the  brain.  She  knew  nothing  about  mental  maladies.  She  only 
said,  after  what  she  liad  seen  and  heard,  "  The  man  is  mad." 

Then  she  thought  how  she  should  best  act.  To  establish  the 
identity  of  Mr.  Dcring  and  Edmund  Gray  must  be  done.  It  was 
the  one  thing  necessary.  Very  well.  That  could  easily  be  done, 
and  in  a  simple  way.  S^ie  had  only  to  march  into  his  office,  at 
the  bead  of  a  small  band  of  witnesses,  and  say,  "You  wanted  us 
to  find  out  Edmund  Gray.  I  have  found  him  !  And  thou  art  the 
man  !" 

lie  would  deny  it.  He  certainly  knew  nothing  about  it.  Then 
she  would  call  upon  her  witnesses.  First,  Athelstan's  commission- 
naire,  who  declared  that  lie  should  remember,  even  after  eight  years 
or  eighty  years,  the  gentleman  who  sent  him  to  cash  that  check. 
"  Who  is  this  man,  commissionuaire  ?' 
11 


242  THE    IVOKY    GATE 

"That  is  Mr.  Etlmmul  Gray." 

Next,  the  landlord  of  his  chambers.     "  Who  is  this  man  ?" 

"  That  is  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  my  tenant  for  nine  years." 

Then  she  would  call  the  eminent  barrister,  Mr.  Langliornc. 
"  Do  you  know  this  man  ?" 

"  lie  is  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Edmund  Gray." 

And  Freddy  Carstone  the  coach. 

*'  lie  is  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Eilnuind  Gray." 

And  the  laundress,  and  she  would  say,  "  T  have  done  for  the 
gentleman  for  nine  years.  He's  a  very  good  gentleman,  and  gen- 
erous, and  his  name  is  Mr.  Edmund  Gray." 

And  the  people  from  the  hall,  and  they  would  make  answer, 
with  one  consent,  "That  is  Mr.  ii]dmund  (xray,  our  preacher  and 
our  teacher." 

And  she  herself  wouKl  give  her  testimony,  "I  have  sat  with 
you  in  your  chambers.  1  have  heard  you  lecture  in  your  hall, 
surrounded  by  these  gootl  people,  and  you  are  Edmund  (Jray." 

The  thing  was  quite  easy  to  do.  She  could  bring  forward  all 
this  evidence  at  once,  and  it  would  be  unanswerable  and  convinc- 
ing— even  to  Sir  Samuel. 

Except  for  one  thing,  which  made  it  didicult. 

The  discovery  would  be  a  most  dreadful — a  most  terrible — 
revelation  to  one  who  believed  himself  to  be  the  most  respectable 
solicitor  in  the  whole  of  London  ;  the  most  trustworthy  ;  the 
clearest  in  mind  ;  the  keenest  in  vision  ;  the  coolest  in  judgment. 
lie  would  learn  without  the  least  previous  suspicion  or  prepara- 
tion, or  any  softening  of  the  blow,  that  for  many  years  he  had 
been —  What  ?  Is  there  any  other  word — any  kinder  word — 
any  word  less  terrifying  or  less  humiliating — by  which  the  news 
could  be  conveyed  to  him  that  he  had  been  mad — mad — mad  ? 
Heavens!  what  a  word  it  is!  How  terrible  to  look  at  with  its 
three  little  letters  which  mean  so  much.  All  the  words  that 
mean  much  arc  monosyllables — God;  love;  joy;  hate;  fear*» 
glad;  sad;  mad;  bad;  hell;  hoine;  wife;  child;  house;  song; 
feast;  wine;  kiss — everything — they  are  the  oldest  words,  you 
see;  they  have  been  used  from  time  immemorial  by  prehistoric 
man  as  well  as  by  ourselves. 

Mr.  Dering  had  to  be  told  that  he  was  mad.  Somehow  or 
other,  he  must  be  told  that.  It  seemed  at  first  the  only  way  out 
of  the  diilicultv.      How  c«juld  this  iiirl  communicate  the  dreadful 


THE    IVOUY    GATE  2-43 

news  to  her  guardian,  who  liad  always  been  to  her  considerate, 
and  even  affectionate?  She  shrank  from  the  task.  Then  she 
thouglit  slic  would  hand  it  over  to  her  brother  Athclstan.  But 
he  was  far  more  concerned  about  clearing  up  the  hateful  business 
than  about  softening  the  blow  for  Mr.  Bering.  Or  of  communi- 
cating it  to  George.  What  should  she  do  ?  Mr.  Dering  was 
mad.  Not  mad  all  the  time,  hut  mad  now  and  then — sometimes 
every  day,  sometimes  with  intervals.  This  kind  of  madness,  I  be- 
lieve, takes  many  forms — a  fact  which  should  make  the  strongest 
men  tremble.  Sometiuies  it  lasts  a  long  time  before  it  is  found 
out.  Sometimes,  even,  it  is  never  found  out  at  all.  Solicitors 
and  doctors  tell  queer  stories  about  it.  For  instance,  that  story — 
quite  a  common  story — of  an  old  gentleman  of  irreproachable 
reputation,  a  speaker  and  leader  in  religious  circles,  a  man  cnor- 
m.nisly  respected  by  all  classes,  concerning  whom  not  his  bitter- 
est enemy  had  a  word  of  scandal — yet,  after  his  death,  things  de- 
plorable, things  incredible,  things  to  be  suppressed  at  any  cost, 
were  brougiit  to  the  knowledge  of  his  lawyers.  At  certain  times 
ho  went  mad,  you  see.  Then  he  forgot  who  he  was ;  he  forgot 
his  reputation,  his  place  in  the  world,  and  the  awful  penalties  of 
being  found  out;  he  went  down;  he  lived  among  people  of 
th'i  baser  sort,  and  became  an  inferior  man  with  another  name, 
and  died  without  ever  knowing  liis  own  dreadful  record.  An- 
other of  whom  I  have  heard  was  mad  for  fifteen  years,  yet  the 
chief  of  a  great  house,  who  all  the  time  conducted  the  business 
with  great  ability,  lie  was  found  out  at  last  because  he  began  to 
buy  things.  Once  he  sent  home  six  grand  pianos  ;  another  time 
he  bought  all  the  cricket-bats  that  were  in  stock  at  a  certain 
shop;  and  another  time  he  bought  all  the  hats  that  fitted  him  at 
ail  the  hatters' shops  within  a  circle  whose  centre  was  ricc.idilly 
Circus  and  tlic  radius  a  mile  long.  After  this  they  gave  him  a 
cheerful  companion,  who  took  walks  abroad  with  him,  and  he  re- 
tired from  active  business.  Some  philosophers  maintain  that  we 
are  all  gone  mad  on  certain  points.  In  that  case,  if  one  does  not 
know  it  or  suspect  it,  and  if  our  friends  neither  know  nor  suspect 
it,  what  does  it  matter  ?  There  are  also,  we  all  know,  points  on 
which  some  of  us  arc  mad,  and  everybody  knows  it.  There  is  the 
man  who  believes  that  he  is  a  great  poet,  and  publishes  volume 
after  vulumo,  all  at  his  uwn  expense,  to  [)ruvc  it ;  there  is  the  man 
—but  he  ought  tu  be  taken  away  and  put  ou  a  treadmill   -who 


244  THE    IVORY    GATE 

writes  letters  to  the  papers  on  every  conceivable  subject,  witli 
tbe-day-beforc-yesterday's  wisdom;  there  is  tlie  man  who  thinks 
he  can  paint — we  all  know  plenty  of  men  mad  like  unto  these, 
and  we  are,  for  the  most  part,  willin<j;  to  tolerate  them.  Con- 
siderations, however,  on  the  universality  of  the  complaint  fail  to 
bring  consolation  to  any  except  those  wlio  have  it  not.  In  the 
same  way  nobody  who  dies  of  any  disease  is  comforted  with  the 
thoui^ht  of  the  rarity  or  the  frc(]ucncy  of  that  disease;  its  inter- 
esting character  has  no  charm  for  him.  Nor  is  the  man  on  his 
way  to  be  banged  consoled  by  the  reminder  that  thousands  liavc 
trodden  that  flowery  way  before  him.  To  Mr.  Dering — proud  of 
his  own  intclleot,  sclf-suffificnt  and  strong — the  discovery  of  those 
things  would  certainly  bring  humiliation  intolerable,  pcrhaj)s  even 
shame  unto  death  itself.  How — oh!  Ikjw  could  things  be  man- 
aged so  as  to  spare  him  this  pain? 

Elsie's  diflicullies  grew  greater  the  more  she  piMidered  over 
them.  It  was  past  midnight  when  she  closed  the  volume  of 
thought  and  her  eyes  at  the  same  moment. 

In  the  morning  Athelstan  kissed  her  gravely. 

"Do  you  remember  what  you  said  last  night,  Elsie?  You  said 
tbat  we  could  rest  at  peace,  because  the  thing  was  done." 

"  Well,  Athelstan,  the  words  could  only  have  one  meaning, 
could  they  ?  I  mean,  if  you  want  me  to  be  more  explicit,  that 
tbc  thing  is  actually  done.  My  dear  brother,  I  know  all  about  it 
now.  I  know  who  signed  that  first  check — who  sent  the  com- 
missionnaire  to  the  bank,  who  received  the  notes — who  placed 
them  in  the  safe — who  wrote  about  the  transfers — who  received 
the  letters,  and  carried  on  the  wbole  business.  I  can  place  u\y 
hand  upon  him  to-day,  if  necessary." 

"Without  doubt?     With   proofs,  ample  proofs?" 

"Without  the  least  doubt — with  a  cloud  of  witnesses.  My 
dear  brother,  do  not  doubt  me.  I  liave  done  it.  Yet — for  a  rea- 
son— to  spare  one  most  deeply  concerned — for  the  pity  of  it — if 
you  knew — give  me  a  few  days — a  week,  perbaps — to  find  a  way 
if  I  can.  If  I  cannot  then  the  cruel  truth  must  be  told  bluntly, 
wbatevcr  happens." 

"Remember  all  tlie  miscbief  the  old  villain  ])as  done." 

"The  old  villain?     Oh!  you  mean  Checkley  ?" 

"  Of  course  ;  wbom  should  I  mean  ?" 

"Nobody — nothing.     Brother,  if  you  bid  me  speak  to-day  I 


THE    IVORY    GATE  245 

will  speak.  No  one  has  a  better  right  to  command.  But  if  tliis 
— this  person — were  to  die  to-day,  my  proofs  are  so  ample  that 
there  could  be  no  doubt  possible.  Yes,  even  my  mother — it  is 
dreadful  to  say  it — but  she  is  so  hard  and  so  obstinate — even  my 
mother  would  acknowledge  that  there  is  no  doubt  possible." 

Athelstan  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "  Order  it  exactly  as  you 
please,  my  child.  If  I  have  waited  eiglit  long  years  I  can  wait 
another  week.  Another  week !  Then  I  shall  at  last  be  able  to 
speak  of  my  people  at  home.  I  shall  go  back  to  California  with 
belongings  like  other  men.  I  shall  be  able  to  make  friends;  I 
can  even,  if  it  comes  in  my  way,  make  love,  Elsie.  Do  you  think 
you  understand  quite  what  this  means  to  me?" 

lie  left  her  presently  to  go  about  his  work. 

In  the  corner  of  the  room  stood  her  easel  with  tljc  portrait,  the 
fancy  portrait,  of  Mr.  Dering  the  l>enevolent — Mr.  Dering  the 
Optimist — Mr.  Dering  as  lie  might  be  with  the  same  features  and 
tlie  least  little  change  in  their  habitual  setting. 

Elsie  stood  before  this  picture,  looking  at  it  curiously. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  "you  are  a  dear,  tender-hearted,  kindly, 
benevolent,  simple  old  thing.  You  believe  in  human  nature;  you 
think  that  everybody  is  longing  for  the  kingdom  of  Heaven;  you 
think  that  everybody  would  be  comfortable  in  it;  that  everybody 
longs  for  honesty.  IJcforc  I  altered  you  and  improved  your  face, 
you  were  justice  without  mercy ;  you  were  law  without  leniency ; 
you  wcro  experience  which  knows  that  all  men  arc  wicked  by 
choice  when  they  get  the  chance ;  you  had  no  soft  place  any- 
where; you  held  that  society  exists  only  for  the  preservation  of 
property.  Oli !  you  arc  so  much  more  lovable  now — if  you  would 
only  think  so — if  you  only  knew.  You  believe  in  men  and  wom- 
en— tliat  is  a  wonderful  advance — and  you  have  done  well  to  change 
your  old  name  to  your  new  name.  I  think  I  should  like  you  al- 
ways to  be  Edmund  Gray.  Hut  how  am  I  to  tell  you?  How,  in 
the  name  of  wonder,  am  1  to  tell  you  that  you  are  Edmund  Gray  ? 
First  of  all,  I  must  see  you ;  I  must  break  the  thing  gently ;  I 
must  force  you  somehow  to  recollect  as  soon  as  possible.  I  must 
make  you,  somcliow,  understand  what  has  liappened." 

She  had  promised  to  meet  Mr.  Edmiind  Gray  at  his  chambers 
that  evening  at  five.  He  showed  his  confidence  in  her  by  giving 
her  a  latcli-key,  so  that  she  might  let  herself  in  if  he  happened  not 
to  be  in  the  chambers  when  she  called  at  five.     She  would  try, 


24  G 


THE     IVOIIV    OATR 


then,  to  brin^  liiin  back  to  Iiimsolf.  SIic  pictured  liis  amazement 
— liis  shame — at  finding  iiinisclf  in  strancjc  rooms,  under  anotlicr 
name,  preacliini;  wild  doctrines.  It  would  be  too  much  for  him. 
Better  go  to  Mr.  Dering,  the  real  Mr.  Dcring,  and  try  to  move 
liim,  in  his  own  office,  to  recollect  what  had  happened.  Because, 
yon  sec,  Elsie,  unacquainted  with  these  obscure  forms  of  brain- 
disease,  imagined  that  she  might,  by  artful  question  and  sugges- 
tion, clear  that  clouded  memory,  and  show  the  lawyer  his  double 
figuring  as  a  Socialist. 

She  waited  till  the  afternoon.  She  arrived  at  New  Square  about 
three,  two  hours  before  her  engagement  at  Cray's  Inn. 

Mr.  Dcring  received  her  with  his  usual  kindness.  He  was  aus- 
terely benignant. 

"  I  tried  to  see  you  last  night,"  slic  said  untruthfully,  because 
the  words  conveyed  the  impression  that  she  had  called  upon  him. 

"  No,  no.  I  was — I  suppose  I  was  out.  1  went  out — "  His 
face  clouded,  and  he  stopped. 

"Yes — you  were  saying,  Mr.  Dcring,  that  you  went  out." 

"  Last  night  was  Sunday,  wasn't  it?  Yes,  I  went  out.  Where 
did  I  go?"  He  drummed  the  table  with  his  fingers  irritably. 
"  Where  did  I  go  ?     Where?     What  does  it  matter?" 

"  Nothing  at  all.  Only  it  is  strange  that  you  should  not  re- 
member." 

"  I  told  you  once  before,  Elsie,"  he  said — "  I  suffer — I  labor — 
under  curious  fits  of  forgetful ncss.  Now,  at  this  moment,  I — it 
really  is  absurd — I  cannot  remember  where  I  was  last  night.  I 
am  an  old  man.  It  is  the  privilege  of  age  to  forget  yesterday, 
and  to  remember  fifty  years  ago." 

"  I  was  talking  last  night  to  an  old  gentleman  who  said  much 
the  same.  He  has  chambers,  where  he  goes  to  write;  he  has  a 
lecture-hall,  where  he  preaches  to  the  people — " 

Mr.  Dcring  looked  at  her  in  mild  surprise.  What  did  she 
mean  ?     Elsie  colored. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"  How  I  spent  the  evening  I  know  very  well,"  Mr.  Dcring  went 
on.  "Yet  I  forget.  That  is  the  trouble  with  me.  My  house- 
keeper will  not  give  me  dinner  on  Sunday  evening,  and  on  that 
day  I  go  to  my  club.  I  get  there  about  five  or  six.  I  read  the 
magazines  till  seven.  Sometimes  I  drop  ofiE  to  sleep — we  old  fel- 
lows will  drop  off,  you  know — about  seven  I  have  dinner.     After 


THE     IVORY    GATE  247 

dinner  I  take  my  coflcc,  and  read — or  talk,  if  there  is  any  one  I 
know.  About  nine  I  walk  home.  Tliat  has  been  my  custom  for 
many  years.  Therefore,  that  is  how  I  spent  the  evening  of  yes- 
terday. But,  you  see,  I  cannot  remember  it.  Breakfast  I  re- 
member, and  the  churcli  service  afterwards.  Lunclieon  I  remem- 
ber; getting  liome  at  ten  I  remember;  but  the  interval  between 
I  cannot  remember." 

"  Do  you  forget  other  things  ?  Do  you  remember  Saturday  af- 
ternoon, for  instance  ?" 

"  Yes — perfectly.  I  left  the  office  about  five.  I  walked  straight 
home.  No,  no — that  isn't  right.  It  was  nearly  eight  when  I  got 
home.  I  remember.  The  diimcr  was  spoiled.  No,  I  did  not  go 
straight  home." 

"  Perhaps  you  stayed  here  till  past  seven  ?" 

"No  —  no.  I  remember  looking  at  the  clock  as  I  put  on 
my  hat.  It  was  half-past  five  when  I  went  out — five.  What 
did  I  do  between  half-past  five  o'clock  and  eight?  I  forget.  You 
see  my  trouble,  Elsie — I  forget.  Perhaps  I  went  to  the  club; 
perhaps  I  strolled  about ;  perhaps  I  came  back  here.  There  arc 
three  hours  to  account  for — and  I  have  fortrottcn  them  all." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WILL     HE      U  E  M  E  M  n  E  R  ? 


SiioiTLD  she  tell  him  ?  She  could  not.  The  way  must,  some- 
how, be  prepared.  No,  she  could  not  tell  him  just  so — in  cold 
blood.  How  would  he  look  if  she  were  to  begin,  "  I  have  found 
out  the  mystery.  You  arc  P^dmund  Gray.  During  the  hours 
that  you  cannot  recall  you  are  playing  the  part  of  a  Socialist 
teacher  and  leader ;  you  are  actively  propagating  the  doctrines 
tliat  you  hold  to  be  dangerous  and  misleading?"  Wjjat  would 
he  say?     What  would  he  feel  when  he  realized  the  trnth? 

On  the  table  lay  a  copy  of  the  Times — a  fortnight-old  copy — 
open  at  the  place  where  there  was  a  certain  letter  from  a  certain 
I'Almund  Gray.  Elsie  pointed  to  it.  Mr.  Dering  sighed.  "Again," 
he  said,  "  they  persecute  me.     Now  it  is  a  letter  addressed  to  Ed- 


248  THE    IVOKV    GATE 

mund  Gray  lying  on  my  tabic;  now  it  is  the  bill  of  a  pernicious 
lecture  by  Ivlimind  Gray;  to-day  it  is  this  paper,  with  the  letter 
that  appeared  a  week  or  two  ai;o.  AVho  brouijht  it  here  ?  Check- 
ley  says  he  didn't.     Who  put  it  on  my  table?" 

Elsie  made  no  reply.  It  was  useless  to  test  her  former  theory 
of  the  boy  under  the  tabic. 

"  As  for  the  man  who  wrote  this  letter,"  Mr.  Dcrincj  went  on — 
"  he  bears  the  name  of  our  forger,  and  writes  from  the  same  ad- 
dress. Yet  he  is  not  the  man — of  that  I  am  convinced.  This 
man  is  a  fool,  because  he  believes  in  the  lionesty  of  mankind;  he 
is  a  generous  fool,  because  he  believes  that  people  would  rather 
be  good  than  bad.  Nonsense !  They  would  rather  be  stealing 
from  each  other's  plates,  like  the  moidvcys,  than  dividing  openly. 
He  has  what  they  call  a  good  heart — that  is,  he  is  a  soft  creature 
— and  he  is  full  of  pity  for  the  poor.  Now,  iu  my  young  days 
I  was  taught — what  after-experience  has  only  brought  more  home 
to  mc — that  the  poor  arc  poor  in  consecjuencc  of  their  vices.  Wo 
used  to  say  to  them,  'Go  away;  practise  thrift;  be  sober;  work 
hard.  By  exercising  these  virtues  we  rose  out  of  your  ranks.  By 
continuing  to  exercise  them  we  remain  on  these  levels.  Go  away. 
There  is  no  remedy  for  disease  contracted  by  vice.  Go  away  and 
suffer.'  That's  what  wc  said  formerly.  What  they  say  now  is, 
'Victims  of  greed!  You  are  filled  with  every  virtue  possible  to 
luimanity.  You  are  dowu-trodden  by  the  capitalist.  You  arc 
oppressed.  Make  and  produce  for  others  to  enjo}'.  We  will 
change  all  this.  We  will  put  the  fruits — the  harvest — of  your 
labor  in  your  own  hands,  and  you  shall  show  the  world  your  jus- 
tice, your  noble  disinterestedness,  your  generosity,  your  love  of 
the  common  weal.'  That's  the  new  gospel,  Elsie,  but  I  prefer 
the  old." 

Strange  that  a  nuan  should  at  one  time  hold,  and  preach  with 
so  much  fervor  and  earnestness,  the  very  creed  which,  at  another 
time,  he  denounced  as  fiercely  ! 

"This  man,  and  such  as  he,"  continued  Mr.  Dering,  lifted  out 
of  his  anxieties  by  the  subject,  "  would  destroy  property  in  order 
to  make  the  workman  rich.  Wonderful  doctrine !  He  would 
advance  the  world  by  destroying  the  only  true  incentive  and  stim- 
ulant for  work,  invention,  civilization,  association,  and  every  good 
and  useful  thing.  lie  would  destroy  property.  And  then  ?  can 
he  not  see  what  would  follow  ?     Why,  these  people  do  not  know 


THE    IVORY     GATE  249 

tlic  very  alphabet  of  tlic  thing.  By  property,  they  incan  the  pos- 
session by  individuals  of  land  or  money.  But  that  is  only  a  part 
of  property.  Take  that  away,  and  the  individual  remains.  And 
he  has  t^ot — what  you  cannot  take  away — the  rest  of  his  property, 
by  which  he  will  speedily  repair  the  temporary  loss.  Consider, 
child,  if  you  can,  what  does  a  man  possess?  Lie  has,  I  say,  prop- 
erty— all  his  own — which  cannot  be  taken  from  him  or  shared 
with  another — property  in  his  brain,  his  trade,  liis  wit,  his  craft, 
his  art,  his  skill,  his  invention,  his  enterprise,  his  quickness  to  grip 
an  opportunity.  Again,  he  has  his  wife  and  children — sometimes 
a  very  valuable  property  ;  he  has,  besides,  his  memories,  his  knowl- 
edge, his  experience,  his  thoughts,  his  hopes,  his  projects,  and  his 
intentions;  he  has  his  past  and  he  has  his  future;  he  has,  or 
thinks  he  has,  his  inheritance  in  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.  Take 
away  all  these  things  bit  by  bit,  what  is  left?  Nuthing.  Not 
even  the  shadow  of  a  man.  Not  even  a  naked  fii^jure.  This, 
Elsie,  is  property.  These  things  separate  the  individual  from  the 
mass,  and  each  man  from  his  neighbor.  A  shallow  fanatic,  like 
this  Edmund  Gray,  thinks  that  wealth  is  the  whole  of  property. 
AVhy,  I  say,  it  is  only  a  part  of  property ;  it  is  the  external  and 
visible  side  of  certain  forms  of  property.  Take  all  the  wealth 
away  to-day — even  if  yon  make  ten  thousand  laws,  the  same  qual- 
ities— the  same  forms  of  property — the  same  lack  of  those  qual- 
ities will  produce  like  results  to-morrow.  Do  you  now  under- 
stand, child,  what  is  meant  by  property  ?  It  is  everything  which 
makes  humanity.  AVcalth  is  only  the  symbol  or  proof  of  society 
so  organized  that  all  these  qualities — the  whole  property  of  a  man 
— can  be  exercised  freely  and  without  injustice." 

"  I  see,"  said  Elsie,  gazing  with  wonder  undisguised.  Was 
this  last  night's  prophet  ?  Could  the  same  brain  hold  two  such 
diverse  views? 

"You  are  surprised,  child.  That  is  because  you  have  never 
taken  or  understood  this  larger  view  of  property.  It  is  new  to 
you.  Confess,  however,  that  it  lends  sacrcdness  to  things  which 
we  are  becoming  accustomed  to  have  derided.  Believe  mc,  it  is 
not  without  reason  that  some  of  us  venerate  the  laws  which  have 
been  slowly,  very  slowly,  framed  ;  and  the  forms  which  have  been 
slowly,  very  slowly,  framed,  as  experience  has  taught  us  wisdom 
for  the  protection  of  man — working  man,  not  loafing,  lazy  man. 
It  is  wise  and  right  of  us  to  maintain  all  those  institutions  which 
11* 


250  THE    IVORY    GATE 

encourage  the  best  among  us  to  work  and  invent  and  distribute. 
By  these  forms  alone  is  industry  protected  and  enterprise  encour- 
aged. Tiien  such  ;is  tliis  Edmund  Gray" — lie  laid  his  hand  again 
upon  the  letter — "  will  tell  you  that  pro[)crty — property — causes 
certain  crimes — ergo,  property  must  be  destroyed.  Everything 
desirable  causes  its  own  peculiar  class  of  crime.  Consider  the 
universal  passion  of  love.  It  daily  causes  crimes  innumerable. 
Yet  no  one  has  yet  proposed  the  abolition  of  love — eh?" 

"I  believe  not,"  Elsie  replied,  smiling.  "I  hope  no  one  will 
—yet." 

"No.  But  the  desire  for  property,  which  is  equally  universal — 
which  is  tlie  most  potent  factor  in  the  cause  of  law  and  order — 
they  desire  and  propose  to  destroy.  I  have  shown  you  that  it  is 
impossible.  Let  the  com|)anics  pay  no  dividends  ;  let  all  go  to  the 
working-men  ;  let  the  lands  pay  no  rent;  the  houses  no  rent;  let 
the  merchants'  capital  yield  no  profit — to-morrow  the  clever  man 
will  be  to  the  front  again,  using  for  his  own  purposes  the  dull  and 
the  stupid  and  the  lazy.  That  is  my  opinion.  Forgive  this  ser- 
mon, Elsie.  You  started  me  on  the  subject.  It  is  one  on  which 
I  have  felt  very  strongly  for  a  long  time.  In  fact,  the  more  I 
think  upon  it  the  more  I  am  convinced  that  the  most  important 
thing  in  any  social  system  is  the  protection  of  the  individual — per- 
sonal liberty;  freedom  of  contract;  right  to  enjoy  in  safety  what 
Lis  ability,  his  enterprise,  and  his  dexterity  may  gain  for  him." 

Elsie  made  no  reply  for  a  moment.  The  conversation  had 
taken  an  unexpected  turn.  The  vehemence  of  the  upholder  of  prop- 
erty overwhelmed  her  as  much  as  the  earnestness  of  its  destroyer. 
Besides,  what  chance  has  a  girl  of  onc-and-twenty,  on  a  subject 
of  which  she  knows  nothing,  with  a  man  who  has  thought  upon 
it  for  fifty  years?  Besides,  she  was  thinking  all  the  time  of  the 
other  man.  And  now  there  was  no  doubt — none  whatever — that 
Mr.  Dering  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray — nothing  at  all. 
lie  knew  nothing  and  suspected  nothing  of  the  truth.  And  which 
should  she  believe?  The  man  who  was  filled  with  pity  for  the 
poor,  and  saw  nothing  but  their  sufferings;  or  the  man  who  was 
full  of  sympathy  with  the  rich,  and  saw  in  the  poor  nothing  but 
their  vices?  Are  all  men  who  work  oppressed?  Or  are  there  no 
oppressed  at  all,  but  only  some  lazy  and  stupid  and  some  clever? 

*'  Tell  me  more  another  time,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh.  *'  Come 
back  to  the  case — the  robbery.     Is  anything  discovered  yet?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  251 

"  I  have  heard  nothing.  George  refuses  to  go  on  with  the  case, 
out  of  some  scruple  because — " 

"  Oh  !  I  know  the  cause.  Very  cruel  things  have  been  said 
about  him.  Do  you  not  intend  to  stand  by  your  own  partner,  Mr. 
Dcring?" 

"  To  stand  by  him  ?     Why,  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"You  know  what  has  been  said  of  him — what  is  said  of  him — 
why  I  have  had  to  leave  home — " 

"  I  know  what  is  said — certainly.  It  matters  nothing  what  is 
said.  The  only  important  thing  is  to  find  out — and  that  they 
cannot  do." 

"They  want  to  connect  Edmund  Gray  with  the  forgeries,  and 
they  arc  trying  the  wrong  way.  Checkley  is  not  the  connecting 
link,  nor  is  George." 

"You  talk  in  riddles,  child." 

"  Perhaps.  Do  you  think,  yourself,  that  George  has  had  any- 
thing whatever  to  do  with  the  business?" 

"If  you  put  it  so,  I  do  not.  If  you  ask  me  what  I  have  a  right 
to  tbink — it  is  that  everything  is  possible." 

"That  is  what  you  said  about  Athclstan.  Yet  now  his  inno- 
cence is  established." 

"  That  is  to  say,  his  guilt  is  not  proved.  Find  me  the  man  who 
forged  that  check,  and  I  will  acknowledge  that  he  is  innocent. 
Until  tlien  he  is  as  guilty  as  the  other  man— Checkley — who  was 
also  named  in  connection  with  the  matter.  Mind,  I  say,  I  do  not 
believe  tliat  my  partner  could  do  this  thing.  I  will  tell  him  so.  I 
liave  told  him  so.  If  it  bad  to  be  done  over  again,  I  would  ask 
liim  to  become  my  partner.  But  all  things  are  possible.  My 
brother  is  hot  upon  it.  Well — let  him  search  as  he  pleases.  In 
such  a  case  the  solution  is  always  the  simplest  and  the  most  un- 
expected. I  told  him  only  this  morning — lie  had  lunch  with  mo 
— that  he  was  on  a  wrong  scent,  but  ho  is  obstinate.  Let  him 
go  on." 

"Yes — let  him  divide  a  family — keep  up  bitterness  between 
mother  ami  son — make  a  life-long  separation  between  those  who 
ought  to  love  each  other  most —  Oh  !  it  is  shameful  !  It  is 
shameful !     And  you  make  no  effort — none  at  all — to  stop  it.' 

"What  can  I  do?  What  can  I  say,  more  than  I  have  said? 
If  they  would  only  not  accuse  each  other — but  find  out  somc- 
thinix!" 


252  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  Mr.  Dering — forgive  mc — what  I  am  going  to  say  " — slic  be- 
gan with  jerks.  "Tlic  lionor  of  my  brotlicr — of  my  lover — arc 
at  stake.'' 

"  Say,  child,  what  yoii  please." 

"I  think  that  perhaps" — she  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him — 
*'  if  you  could  remember  sometimes  those  dropped  and  forgotten 
evenings — those  liours  when  you  do  not  know  what  you  have  said 
and  done — if  you  could  only  remember  a  little — we  might  find 
out  more." 

He  watched  her  face  blushing,  and  her  eyes  confused,  and  her 
voice  stammering,  and  he  saw  that  there  was  something  behind — 
something  that  she  hinted,  but  would  not  or  could  not  express. 
He  sat  upright,  suspicious  and  disquieted. 

"  Tell  mc  what  you  mean,  child." 

"  I  cannot — if  you  do  not  remember  anything.  You  come  late 
in  the  morning — sometimes  two  hours  late.  You  think  it  is  only 
ten  o'clock  when  it  is  twelve.  You  do  not  know  where  you  have 
been  for  the  last  two  hours.  Try  to  remember  that.  You  were 
late  on  Saturday  morning.  Perhaps  this  morning.  Where  were 
you  ?" 

His  face  was  quite  white.  He  understood  that  something  was 
going — soon — to  happen. 

"  I  know  not,  Elsie — indeed — I  cannot  remember.  Where  was 
I?" 

"You  leave  here  at  five.  You  have  ordered  dinner,  and  your 
housekeeper  tells  mc  that  you  come  home  at  ten  or  eleven.  Where 
arc  you  all  that  time?" 

"  I  am  at  the  club." 

"  Can  you  remember?  Think — were  you  at  the  club  last  night? 
George  went  there  to  find  you,  but  you  were  not  there — and  you 
were  not  at  liome.     Where  were  you  ?" 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  he  could  not.  He  shook  his  head — he 
gasped  twice. 

"You  cannot  remember?  Oh!  try,  Mr.  Dering — try — for  the 
sake  of  everybody — to  put  an  end  to  this  miserable  condition — 
try." 

"  I  cannot  reraeraber,"  he  said  again  feebly. 

"  Is  it  possible — just  possible — that  while  you  are  away — during 
these  intervals — you  yourself  may  be  actually  in  the  company  r)f 
this  Socialist — this  Edmund  Gray  ?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  253 

"  Elsie  !   wliat  do  you  mean  ?" 
"I  mean — can  you  not  remember?" 

"  You  mean  more,  child !  Do  you  know  what  you  mean  «  If 
wliat  you  suggest  is  true,  then  I  must  be  mad-mad.  Do  you 
mean  It?  Do  you  mean  it?  Do  you  understand  what  you  say?" 
Iry— try  to  remember,"  she  replied.  "That  is  all  I  mean. 
iMy  dear  guardian,  is  there  any  one  to  whom  I  am  more  grateful 
than  yourself?  You  have  given  me  a  fortune,  and  my  lover  an 
income.  Try— try  to  remember." 
She  left  him  witliout  more  words. 

He  sat  looking  straight  before  him-the  horror  of  the  most 
awful     lung  that  can   befall   a  man    upon    him.      Presently  he 
touched  his  bell,  and  his  old  clerk  appeared. 
"Checklcy,"  he  said,  "tell  me  the  truth."* 
"  I  always  do,"  he  replied  surlily. 

"  I  have  been  suffering  from  fits  of  forgetful n ess.  Have  you 
observed  any  impairing  of  the  faculties?  When  a  man's  mental 
powers  are  decaying  he  forgets  things;  he  loses  the  power  of 
work;  his  old  skill  leaves  him;  he  cannot  distinguish  between 
good  work  and  bad.  He  sliows  his  mental  decay,  I  believe,  in 
physical  ways-he  shuffles  as  he  walks;  he  stoops  and  shambles 
-and  in  his  speech-he  wanders  and  he  repeats-and  in  his  food 
and  nianner  of  eating  Have  you  observed  any  of  these  symptoms 
upon  me,  Checkley  ?"  "^     ' 

"Not  one.  You  arc  as  upright  as  a  lance;  you  cat  like 
five -and -twenty;  your  talk  is  as  good  and  your  work  is  as 
good  as  when  you  were  forty.  Don't  think  such  thincrs.  To 
be  sure,  you  do  forget  a  bit.  But  not  your  work.  You  only 
forget  sometimes  what  you  did  out  of  the  office-as  if  that 
matters.  Do  you  remember  the  case  you  tackled  yesterday  af- 
tcrnoon  ?  -^  j    " 

"Certainly." 

"Do  you  tell  me  that  any  man-forty  years  younger  than  you 
-could  have  tackled  that  case  more  neatly  ?     Gam  !     Go  Ion.  '" 
Checklcy  went  back  to  his  office.  "^  ' 

V^  ho  put  her  on  to  such  a  suspicion  ?  What  did  she  mean  by 
.t?  Of  course  its  nonsense?"  So  reassuring  himself,  he  vet 
remained  disquieted.     For  he  could  not  remember 

At  half-past  five  or  so  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  arrived  at  his  cham- 


254  THE    IVOKY    GATE 

bcrs.  The  outer  door  was  closed,  but  he  found  liis  disciple  wait- 
injj;  for  liirn.  She  had  been  there  an  hour  or  more,  she  said.  She 
was  reading  one  of  the  books  he  had  rcconimciided  to  her.  With 
the  words  of  Mr.  Dcring  in  her  cars  she  read  as  if  two  voices  were 
speaking  to  her — talking  to  each  other  across  her. 

She  laid  down  the  book,  and  rose  to  greet  him.  "Master,"  she 
said,  "  I  have  come  from  Mr.  Dering.  lie  is  your  solicitor,  you 
told  me." 

"  Assuredly.     He  manages  my  affairs." 

"It  is  curious — I  asked  him  if  he  knew  you — and  he  said  tliat 
he  knew  nothing  about  you." 

"That  is  curious,  certainly.  My  solicitor  for — for  many  years, 
lie  nmst  liavc  mistaken  the  name.  Or — he  grows  old — perhaps 
he  forgets  people.'' 

"  Do  you  often  see  him  ?"' 

"  I  saw  him  this  morning.  I  took  him  my  letter  to  the  Times. 
lie  is  narrow — very  narrow — in  liis  views.  \Vc  argued  the  thing 
for  a  bit.  Ijiit,  really,  one  might  as  well  argue  with  a  stick  as 
with  Dering  when  property  is  concerned.  So  he  forgets,  does  he? 
Poor  old  chap  I  lie  forgets —  Well,  wc  all  grow  old  together." 
He  sighed.  "  It  is  his  time  to-day  and  mine  to-morrow.  My 
scholar,  let  us  talk." 

The  scholar  left  her  master  at  seven.  On  her  way  out  she  ran 
against  Checkley,  who  was  prowling  round  the  court.  "  You !" 
he  cried.  "  You  !  Ah  !  I've  caught  you,  have  I  ?  On  Satur- 
day afternoon  I  thought  I  see  you  going  into  No.  22.  Now 
I've  caught  you  coming  out,  have  I?" 

"Checkley," she  said, "if  you  are  insolent  I  shall  have  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Dering,"  and  walked  away. 

"There's  another  of  'em,"  Checkley  murmured,  looking  after 
lier — "  a  liardcncd  one,  if  ever  there  was.  All  for  her  lover  and 
her  brother !     A  pretty  nest  of  'cm.     And  calls  herself  a  lady !" 


TUE    IVOUy    OATE  266 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

THE  LESSON  OF  THE  STREET 

"Child,"  said  the  master,  "it  is  time  that  jou  sliould  talcc  an- 
other lesson." 

"  I  am  ready.  Let  us  bei^in."  She  crossed  her  hands  in  her 
lap,  and  looked  up  obedient. 

"Not  a  lesson  this  time  from  books.  A  practical  lesson  from 
men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  cliildren  and  infants  in  arms. 
Let  us  go  forth,  and  hear  the  teaching  of  the  wrecks  and  the 
slaves.  I  will  show  you  creatures  who  are  men  and  women,  mu- 
tilated in  body  and  mind — mutilated  by  the  social  order.  Come. 
I  will  show  you,  not  by  words,  but  by  sight,  why  property  must 
be  destroyed." 

It  was  seven  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Bering  ought  to  have  been 
thinking  of  Lis  dinner,  that  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  proposed  this  ex- 
pedition. Now,  since  that  other  discourse  on  the  sacredness  of 
property,  a  strange  thing  had  fallen  upon  Elsie.  "Whenever  her 
master  spoke  and  taught,  she  seemed  to  hear,  following  him,  the 
otlier  voice  speaking  and  teaching  exactly  the  opposite.  Some- 
times— this  is  absurd,  but  many  true  things  are  absurd — she 
seemed  to  hear  both  voices  speaking  together;  yet  she  lieard 
them  distinctly  and  apart.  Looking  at  Mr.  Dcring,  she  knew 
what  he  was  saying;  looking  at  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  she  heard 
what  he  was  saying.  So  that,  no  sooner  had  these  words  been 
spoken,  than,  like  a  response  in  church,  there  arose  the  voice  of 
Mr.  Dcring.  And  it  said,  "Come.  You  shall  see  the  wretched 
lives  and  the  sufferings  of  those  who  are  punished  because  their 
fathers  or  themselves  have  refused  to  work  and  save.  Not  to 
be  able  to  get  property  is  the  real  curse  of  labor.  It  is  no  evil 
to  work,  provided  one  chooses  the  work  and  creates  for  one's  self 
property.  The  curse  is  to  have  to  work  for  starvation  wages  at 
what  can  never  create  property  if  the  worker  should  live  for  a 
thousand  years." 


256  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Of  tlic  two  voices  she  preferred  the  one  wliicli  promised  the 
abolition  of  poverty  and  crime.  She  was  young ;  she  was  gener- 
ous; any  hope  of  a  return  of  the  Saturnian  reign  made  her  heart 
glow.  Of  the  two  old  men — the  madman  and  the  sane  man — 
she  loved  the  madman.  Who  would  not  love  such  a  man  ?  Why, 
he  knew  how  to  make  the  whole  world  happy  !  Ever  since  the 
time  of  Adam  wc  iiavc  been  looking  and  calling  out  and  praying 
for  such  a  man.  Every  year  tlie  world  runs  after  such  a  man. 
lie  promises,  but  he  docs  not  perform.  The  world  tries  his  pat- 
ent medicine,  and  is  no  bettor.  Then,  the  year  after,  the  world 
runs  after  another  man. 

Elsie  rose  and  followed  the  master.  It  was  always  willi  a  cer- 
tain anxiety  that  she  sat  or  talked  with  him.  Always  she  dreaded 
lest,  by  some  unlucky  acci<lcnt,  he  should  awaken  and  be  restored 
to  himself  suddenly  and  without  warning — .say  in  his  lecture-hall. 
IIow  would  he  look?  What  should  she  say  ?  "See — in  this  place, 
for  many  years  past,  you  have,  in  course  of  madness,  preached  the 
very  doctrines  which  in  hours  of  sanity  you  have  most  reprobated. 
These  people  around  you  are  your  disciples.  You  have  taught 
them,  by  reason  and  by  illustration,  with  vehemence  and  earnest- 
ness, to  regard  the  destruction  of  property  as  the  one  thing  need- 
ful for  the  salvation  of  the  world.  What  will  you  say  now?  Will 
you  begin  to  teach  the  contrary  ? — they  will  chase  you  out  of  the 
hall  for  a  madman.  Will  you  go  on  with  your  present  teaching? 
— you  will  despise  yourself  for  a  madman."  Truly  a  difficult 
position.  Habit,  however,  was  too  strong.  There  was  little  chance 
that  Edmund  Gray  among  his  own  people,  and  at  work  upon  liis 
own  hobby,  would  become  Edward  Dering. 

They  went  out  together.  lie  led  her — wliither?  It  mattered 
not.  North  and  south  and  east  and  west  you  may  find  every- 
wiiere  the  streets  and  houses  of  the  very  poor,  hidden  away  behind 
the  streets  of  the  working  people  and  the  well-to-do. 

The  master  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  those  streets — it 
seemed  to  Elsie  as  if  she  were  standing  between  two  men  both 
alike,  with  different  eyes.  At  the  corner  was  a  public-house  with 
swinging  doors.  It  was  filled  with  men  talking,  but  not  loudly. 
Now  and  then  a  woman  went  in  or  came  out,  but  they  were 
mostly  men.  It  was  a  street  long  and  narrow,  squalid  to  the  last 
degree,  with  small,  two-storied  houses  on  either  side.  The  bricks 
were  grimy;  the  mortar  was  constantly  falling  out  between  them; 


THE    IVORY    GATE  257 

tlic  woodwork   of  doors   and  windows  was   insufTurably  grimy; 
many  of  the  panes  were  broken  in  the  windows.     It  was  full  of 
cliildren  ;  they  swarmed ;  they  ran  about  in  tlie  road,  they  danced 
on  the  pavement,  they  ran  and  jumped  and  lauirhed  as  if  their  lot 
was  the   happiest  in  the  world  and  their  fut\ire  the   bri-hte'^t 
Moreover,  most  of  them,  thon-h   their  parents  were  steeped  in 
poverty,  looked  well-fed  and   oven  rosy.     "  All  these  children  " 
said  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  "  will  grow  up  without  a  trade;  they  will 
enter  life  with  nothing  but  tlieir  hands  and  their  legs  and 'their 
time.    That  is  the  whole  of  their  inheritance.    Thcv  go  to  school 
and  they  like  school ;   but  as  for  the  things  they  learn,  they  will 
forget  them,  or  they  will  have  no  use  for  them.     Hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water  shall  they  be;  they  arc  condemned  already 
liiatisthe  system;  wc  take  thousands  of  children  every  year  and 
we  condemn  them  to  servitude— whatever  genius  may  be  I'yincr 
a.nong  then,.     It  is  like  throwing  treasures  into  the  sea,  or  bur  "- 
uv^  the  fruits  of  the  earth.     Waste  !     Waste  !     Yet,  if  the  system 
IS  to  be  bolstered  up,  what  help?" 

Said  the  other  voice,  "The  world  must  have  servants.  These 
are  our  servants.  If  they  are  good  at  their  work  they  will  rise 
and  become  upper  servants.  If  they  arc  good  upper  servants 
thoy  may  nse  higher.  Their  children  can  rise  higher  still,  and  their 
grandchildren  may  join  us.  Service  is  best  for  them.  Good  ser- 
vice, hard  service,  will  keep  them  in  health  and  out  of  tempta- 
tion. To  lament  because  they  are  servants  is  foolish  and  senti- 
mental.' 

Standing  in  the  door-ways,  sitting  on  the  door-steps,  talking  to- 
g.^her,  were  women-about  four  times  as  many  women  as  tlierc 
were  houses.  This  was  because  there  were  as  many  families  as 
looms,  and  there  were  four  rooms  for  every  house.  As  they  stood 
at  the  end  of  the  street  and  looked  down,  Elsie  observed  that 
nearly  every  woman  had  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  that  there  were 
a  great  many  types  or  kin.ls  of  women.  That  which  docs  not 
surprise  one  in  a  drawing-room,  where  every  woman  is  expected 
to  have  her  individual  points,  is  noticed  in  a  crowd,  where,  one 
thinks,  the  people  should  be  like  sheep— all  alike 

"  A  splendid  place,  this  street,  for  such  a  student  as  you  should 

be,  my  scholar.        I  he  master  looked  up  and  down;  he  sniffed 

he  a„.   which  was  stuffy,  with  peculiar  satisfaction;  he  smiled 

npon  the  grubby  houses.      "  You  should  come  often  ;  you  should 


258  THE    IVORY    GATE 

malcc  flic  acquaintance  of  tlic  people;  yon  will  find  them  so 
human,  so  desperately  iiunian,  that  you  will  prosetitiy  understand 
that  these  women  arc  your  sisters.  Change  dresses  with  one  of 
them  ;  let  your  hair  fall  wild;  take  off  your  bonnet — " 

"Shall  I  then  be  quite  like  them?"  asked  Elsie.  "Like  them, 
master?     Oh  !  not  quite  like  them." 

The  philosopher  obeyed.  "  Not  quite  like  thcni,"  lie  said. 
"No,  vou  could  never  talk  like  them." 

lie  walked  about  among  the  people,  who  evidently  knew  liim, 
because  they  made  way  for  him,  nodded  to  him,  and  pretended, 
such  was  their  j)oliteness,  to  pay  no  attention  to  the  young  lady 
who  accompanied  him. 

"Every  one  of  them  is  a  study,"  he  continued.  "I  could 
preach  to  you  on  every  one  as  a  text.  Here  is  my  young  friend, 
Alice  I'arden,  for  instance" — he  stopped  before  a  pale  girl  of 
seventeen  or  so,  tall  and  slender,  but  of  drooping  ligure,  who 
carried  a  baby  in  lier  arms.  "  Look  at  her.  Consider.  Alice  is 
foolish,  like  all  the  Alices  of  this  street.  Alice  must  needs  marry 
licr  chap  a  year  ago,  when  she  was  sixteen  and  he  was  eighteen. 
Alice  should  be  still  at  her  club  in  tlic  evening  and  her  work  in 
the  daytime.  But  she  must  marry,  and  she  is  a  child-mother.  Is 
he  out  of  work  still  ?"  Alice  nodded,  and  liugged  her  baby 
closer.  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  shook  his  head  in  admonition,  but 
gave  her  a  coin,  and  went  on.  "  Now,  look  at  this  good  woman  " 
— he  stopped  before  a  door  wliere  an  Amazon  was  leaning — a 
woman  five  feet  eight  in  height,  with  brawny  arms  and  broad 
sliouldcrs  and  a  fiery  furnace  for  a  face — a  most  terrible  and  fear- 
ful woman.  "How  arc  you  this  evening,  Mrs.  Moss?  And  how 
is  your  husband  ?" 

Long  is  the  arm  of  coincidence.  Mrs.  Moss  was  just  beginning 
to  repose  after  a  row  royal  ;  she  was  slowly  simmering  and 
slowly  calming.  There  had  been  a  row  royal — a  dispute,  an  ar- 
gument, a  quarrel,  and  a  figlit — with  her  liusband.  All  four  were 
only  just  concluded.  All  four  had  been  conducted  on  the  pave- 
ment, for  the  sake  of  coolness  and  air  and  space.  The  residents 
stood  around  ;  the  controversy  was  sharp  and  animated  ;  the  lady 
bore  signs  of  its  vehemence  in  a  bruise,  rapidly  blackening,  over 
one  eye,  and  abrasions  on  her  knuckles.  The  husband  had  been 
conducted  by  liis  friends  from  the  spot  to  the  public-house  at  the 
corner,  where  he  was  at  present  pulling  himself  together,  and  for- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  259 

gcttinj^  tlic  wciglit  of  his   consort's  fists,  and  solacing  his  spirit 
with  strong  drink. 

"How  is  my  luisband?"  tlic  hidy  repeated.  "Oh!  I'll  tell 
yon — I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Gray,  how  my  husband  is.  Oh  I  how  is 
lie  ?  Go  look  for  him  in  the  public-house.  You  shall  sec  how 
lie  is,  and  what  he  looks  like."  She  descended  two  steps,  still  re- 
taining the  advantage  of  the  lowest.  Then,  describing  a  semi- 
circle with  her  right  arm,  she  began  an  impassioned  harangue. 
The  residents  fled,  right  and  left,  not  knowing  whether  in  her 
wrath  she  might  not  mistake  the  whole  of  them,  collectively,  for 
her  husband.  The  men  in  the  public-house,  hearing  her  voice, 
trembled,  and  looked  apprehensively  at  the  door.  But  Mr.  Gray 
stood  before  her  without  fear.  lie  know  lier  better  than  to  run 
away.  The  lady  respected  his  courage,  and  rejoiced  in  a  sympa- 
thetic listener.  Presently  she  ran  down  ;  she  paused  ;  she  gasped  ; 
she  caught  at  her  heart ;  she  choked  ;  she  wept.  She  sat  down 
on  the  door-step — this  great  strong  woman,  with  the  brawny  arms 
and  the  fiery  face — and  she  wept.  The  residents  crept  timidly 
b.ack  again,  and  gathercil  round  her,  murmuring  sympathy ;  the 
men  in  the  public-house  trembled  again.  Mr.  Gray  grasped  her  by 
the  hand,  and  murmured  a  few  words  of  consolation  ;  for  indeed 
there  were  great  wrongs,  such  as  few  wives,  even  in  this  street,  ex- 
pect, and  undeniable  provocations.    Then  he  led  his  scholar  away. 

At  the  next  house  he  entered,  taking  Elsie  with  hira  to  a  room 
at  the  back,  where  a  woman  sat,  making  garments.  She  was  a 
middle-agod  woman,  and,  though  very  poorly  dressed,  not  in  rags; 
the  room  was  neat,  except  for  the  garments  lying  about.  She 
looked  up  cheerfully — her  eyes  were  bright,  her  face  was  fine — 
and  smiled.  "  You  here,  Mr.  Gray  ?"  she  said.  "  Well,  I  was 
thinking  only  yesterday  how  long  it  is  since  you  came  to  sec  mc 
last.     I  mustn't  stop  working,  but  you  can  talk." 

"  This  is  a  very  special  friend  of  mine,"  said  the  master.  "  I 
have  known  her  for  ten  years,  ever  since  I  began  to  visit  the 
street.  She  is  always  cheerful,  though  she  has  to  live  on  sweat- 
ing work  and  sweating  pay;  she  never  complains;  she  lives  like 
the  sparrows,  and  eats  about  as  much  as  a  sparrow  ;  she  is  alwavs 
respectable;  she  goes  to  church  on  Sundays;  she  is  always  neat 
in  her  dress.     Yet  she  must  be  always  hungry." 

"Ah!"  said  the  woman,  "you'd  wonder,  miss,  if  you  knew 
how  little  a  woman  can  live  upon." 


260  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"Ob!  but,"  said  Elsie — "to  bavc  always  to  live  on  tbat 
little  !" 

"  Slie  is  tbc  dauj^btcr  of  a  man  once  tliought  well-to-do." — 
"  He  was  most  respectable,"  said  tlie  woman — "  lie  died,  and 
left  iiotliincj  but  debts.  The  family  were  soon  scattered,  and — 
You  see  this  street  contains  some  of  those  who  have  fallen  low 
down  as  well  as  those  who  are  born  low  down.  It  is  Misfortune 
Lane  as  well  as  I'overty  Lane.  To  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion, misfortune,  when  it  begins — the  reason  of  its  begiiming 
is  the  wickedness  of  one  man — still  persecutes  and  follows  the 
family." 

"Thank  you,  miss,"  said  the  woman — "and  if  you  will  come 
again  sometimes —  Oh  !  you  needn't  be  afraid.  No  one  would 
hurt  a  friend  of  Mr.  Gray."     So  they  went  out. 

On  the  next  door-step,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  there  sat 
women  old  and  young,  but  all  of  these  had  the  same  look  and 
almost  the  same  features — they  were  heavy-faced,  dull-eyed, 
thick-lipped,  unwashed,  and  unbrushod.  "These,"  said  the  master, 
"  are  the  women  who  know  of  nothing  better  than  the  life  they 
lead  here.  They  have  no  hope  of  rising;  they  would  be  unhappy 
out  of  this  street.  They  bear  children,  they  bring  tiicm  up,  and 
they  die.  It  is  womanhood  at  its  lowest.  They  want  warmth, 
food,  and  drink,  and  that  is  nearly  all.  They  are  the  children  and 
grandchildren  of  women  like  tlieniselves,  and  they  are  the  mothers 
of  women  like  themselves.  Savage  lands  have  no  such  savagery 
as  this,  for  the  worst  savages  have  some  knowledge,  and  these 
women  have  none.  They  arc  mutilated  by  our  system.  We 
liave  deprived  them  of  their  souls.  They  are  the  products  of  our 
system.  In  a  better  order  these  people  could  not  exist;  they 
would  not  be  allowed  parents  or  birth.  The  boy  would  still  be 
learning  his  trade,  and  the  girl  would  be  working  at  hers.  That 
little  woman  who  meets  her  troubles  with  so  brave  a  heart  has 
been  sweated  all  her  life — ever  since  her  misfortunes  began  ;  she 
takes  it  as  part  of  the  thing  they  call  life  ;  she  believes  that  it 
will  be  made  up  to  her  somehow  in  another  world.  I  hope  it 
will." 

"All  these  people,"  said  the  other  voice,  "are  what  they  are 
because  of  the  follies  and  the  vices  of  themselves  and  their  fathers. 
The  hoy-husband  has  no  trade.  Whose  fault  is  that?  The 
rickety  boy  and  the  rickety  girl  bring  into  the  world  a  rickety 


THE    IVUllY    GATE  2G1 

baby.  Whose  fault  is  that  ?  Let  them  grow  worse  instead  of 
better,  until  they  learn  by  sharper  suffering  that  vice  and  folly 
bring  their  punishment." 

"You  sec  the  children,"  continued  the  master,  "and  tlic 
mothers.  Yon  do  not  sec  any  old  men,  because  this  sort  mostly 
die  before  they  reach  the  age  of  sixty.  Those  who  are  past  work 
and  yet  continue  to  live  go  into  the  house.  The  girls  you  do  not 
sec,  because  those  who  arc  not  forced  to  work  all  the  evening  as 
well  as  all  the  day  are  out  walking  with  their  sweethearts.  Nor 
the  men,  because  they  are  mostly  in  the  public-liouse.  They  are 
all  liand-to-mouth  working-men — they  live  by  the  job  when  they 
can  get  any.  When  they  are  out  of  work  they  live  upon  each 
other.  \Ve  hide  this  kind  of  thing  away  in  back-streets  like 
this,  and  we  think  it  isn't  dangerous.  But  it  is.  Formerly,  the 
wreckage  huddled  together  bred  plagues  and  pestilences,  which 
carried  off  rich  and  poor  with  equal  liand,  and  so  revenged  it- 
self,    fti  other  ways  the  wreckage  revenges  itself  still." 

"  This  kind  of  people,"  said  the  other  voice,  "  may  be  dan- 
gerous. \\c  have  a  police  on  purpose  to  meet  ^l^e  danger. 
They  would  be  quite  as  dangerous  if  you  were  to  give  them  free 
dinners  and  house  them  without  rent.  The  class  represents  the 
untamable  clement.  They  are  always  a  danger.  To  cry  over 
them  is  silly  and  useless." 

They  walked  down  the  street.  Everybody  knew  Mr.  Edmund 
(Jray.  lie  had  a  word  for  all.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  been 
a  visitor  in  the  street  for  a  long  time;  he  had  the  air  of  a  pro- 
prietor; he  entered  the  houses  and  opened  doors  and  sat  down 
and  talked,  his  disciple  standing  beside  him  and  looking  on.  lie 
asked  questions  and  gave  advice — not  of  a  subversive  Socialistic 
kind,  but  sound  advice,  recognizing  the  order  that  is,  not  the 
order  that  sImjuM  be. 

All  the  rooms  in  this  street  were  tenanted,  mostly  a  family  to 
each.  In  many  of  thcra  work  was  going  on  still,  though  it  was 
already  eight  o'clock.  Sometimes  it  would  be  a  woman  sitting 
alone  in  her  room  like  a  prisoner  in  a  cell,  stitching  for  dear  life ; 
sometimes  throe  or  four  women  or  girls,  sitting  all  together, 
stitching  for  dear  life;  sometimes  a  whole  family,  little  children 
and  all,  making  matches,  making  canvas  bags,  making  paper 
bags,  making  card-bo.xes,  all  making — making — making  for  dear 
life.     Aud  the  fingers  did  not  stop,  and  the  eyes  were  not  lifted. 


262  THE    IVORY    GATE 

tliough  tlic  visitors  opened  the  door  and  came  in  and  asked  ques- 
tions, to-  which  one  replied  in  the  nanie  of  all  the  rest. 

It  is  an  old,  old  story — everybody  knows  the  slum  ;  people  go 
to  gaze  upon  it ;  it  is  one  of  the  chief  sifjhts  of  Victorian  London, 
just  as  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  aijo  it  was  one  of  the  slights 
to  see  the  women  tlofrired  at  IJridewcll.  Not  such  a  very  great 
advance  in  civilization,  j)crhaps,  after  all. 

"It  is  a  hive — the  place  is  swarming  witli  life,"  said  the  girl, 
whn  had  never  bcfi>re  seen  such  a  street. 

"  Life  means  humanity.  All  these  people  are  so  like  you,  Tuy 
seh'ilar,  that  you  would  be  surprised.  You  would  not  be  like 
them  if  you  were  dressed  in  these  things,  but  they  are  like  you, 
Tiiey  want  the  same  things  as  you — they  have  the  same  desires — 
they  suffer  the  same  pains.  What  makes  your  happiness?  Food, 
warmth,  suflicicncy,  not  too  much  work.  These  arc  the  ele- 
ments for  you  as  \w\\  as  for  them.  In  my  system  they  will 
liave  all  these — and  then  perhaps  they  will  build  up,  as  ymi  have 
done,  an  edifice  of  knowledge,  art,  and  sweet  thoughts.  But  they 
are  all  like  you.  And  most  in  one  thing.  For  all  women  of  all 
classes,  there  is  one  thing  needful.  These  girls,  like  you,  want 
love.  They  all  want  love.  Oh,  child !  they  arc  so  like  you — so 
very  like  you — these  poor  women  of  the  lowest  class.  So  very 
like  their  proud  sisters."  lie  paused  for  a  moment.  Elsie  made 
no  reply.  "  You  see,"  he  continued,  "  they  are  so  hard  at  work 
that  they  cannot  even  lift  their  eyes  to  look  at  you — not  even  at 
vou,  though  they  so  seldom  see  a  girl  among  them  so  lovely  and 
so  well  dressed.  One  would  have  thought — but  there  is  the  whip 
that  drives — that  dreadful  whip — it  hangs  over  them  and  drives 
them  all  day  long  without  rest  or  pause.  Their  work  pays  their 
rent,  and  keeps  them  alive.  It  just  keeps  them  alive,  and  that  is 
all.  No  more.  It  must  be  hard  to  work  all  day  long  for  an- 
other person,  if  you  come  to  think  of  it.  Happily,  they  do  not 
think.  And  all  this  grinding  poverty,  this  terrible  work,  that 
one  family  may  be  able  to  live  in  a  great  house  and  to  do  noth- 
ing." 

"  They  are  working,"  said  the  other  voice,  "  because  one  man 
has  had  the  wit  to  create  a  market  for  their  work.  His  thrift, 
his  enterprise,  his  clearness  of  sight,  have  made  it  possible  for 
these  girls  to  find  the  work  that  keeps  them.  If  they  would  have 
the  sense  not  to  marry  recklcbslv  there  would  be  fewer  working- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  203 

Cjirls,  and  wages  would  go  up.  If  tlicir  employer  raised  their 
wages  only  a  penny  a  day  he  would  benefit  them  but  little,  and 
would  ruin  himself.  They  must  learn — if  they  can — the  lesson 
of  forethought  by  their  own  sufferings.  No  one  can  help 
them." 

As  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  walked  into  the  houses  and  out  again 
Elsie  went  with  him,  or  she  waited  outside  while  he  went  in. 
Sonietimes  she  heard  the  chink  of  coin ;  sometimes  she  heard 
words  of  thanks.  The  Socialist,  whatever  he  taught,  practised  the 
elementary  form  of  charity  possible  only  for  those  who  have 
money.     Elsie  remarked  this  little  point,  but  said  nothing. 

"  What  you  sec  here,"  said  the  master,  "  is  the  lowest  class  of 
all — if  one  ever  gets  to  the  lowest  level.  For  my  own  part,  I  have 
seen  men  and  women  so  wretched  that  you  would  have  called 
them  jiiiserrimi — of  all  created  beings  the  most  wretched.  Yet 
have  I  afterwards  found  others  more  wretched  still.  In  this  street 
are  those  who  make  the  lowest  things;  those  who  can  make  noth- 
ing, and  have  no  trade,  and  live  on  odd  jobs;  and  those  who  can 
neither  make  nor  work,  but  thieve  and  lie  about." 

"I  see  all  that;  but,  dear  master,  what  will  your  new  order  do 
for  such  people?  Will  it  make  those  who  will  not  work  indus- 
trious ?" 

"  It  will  give  every  producer  the  fruits  of  his  own  labor ;  it 
will  teach  a  trade  to  every  man,  and  find  men  work.  And  those 
who  cannot  work,  it  will  lock  up  until  they  die.  They  shall  have 
no  chililren.  Perhaps  it  will  kill  them  all.  It  might  be  better. 
We  will  have  no  human  failures  in  our  midst.  That  street  is  full 
of  lessons,  all  calling  aloud  for  the  destruction  of  property." 

Then  the  other  voice  spoke  :  "  The  presence  of  the  human  fail- 
ure is  a  lesson  always  before  us — a  warning  and  a  lesson  to  rich 
and  poor  alike.  As  he  is,  so  all  may  be.  None  are  so  rich  but 
they  may  be  brought  to  poverty  ;  none  so  poor  but  they  may 
be  poorer.  So  far  from  hiding  away  the  wreckage,  it  is  always 
in  our  sight.  It  prowls  about  tlie  streets;  we  can  never  es- 
cape it.  And  it  fills  all  hearts  with  terror ;  it  spurs  all  men  to 
industry  and  invention  and  perseverance.  The  human  failure  in- 
spires a  never-ending  hymn  in  praise  of  property." 


264  TUE    IVOllY    GATE 


CIIArXER  XXVIII 

THE    LESSON    OF    THE    STREET— (Co»«nU€d) 

Elsie's  ccu'iJc  stoppcil  to  tijrcct  a  woman  wlioin  lie  knew.  She 
had  the  usual  baby  on  her  arm.  Slic  was  a  sad-faced  woman, 
with  some  refinement  in  licr  looks  ;  she  was  wretchedly  dressed, 
thin,  pale,  and  dejected. 

"  The  san)e  story  ?" 

*'  Yes,  "^ir.  It's  always  the  same,"  she  sifrhcd  liopelcssly. 
"  lint  he  would  work  if  he  could  ^et  anything  to  do.  Nobody 
will  employ  a  man  who's  had  a  misfortune.  It's  hard — be- 
cause such  a  thing  may  happen  to  anybody.  It's  like  measles, 
my  husband  says,  lie  can't  get  drunk,  because  there's  no  money. 
That's  my  only  comfort." 

He  gave  her  some  money,  and  she  passed  on  her  way. 

"  Ilcr  husband  was  a  clerk,"  Mr.  Gray  explained,  "  who  took  to 
drink  and  robbed  his  employer.  His  father  was  a  barrister,  who 
died  young.  His  grandfather  was  a  well-known — almost  a  great 
lawyer.  I  know  the  whole  family  history.  I  learned  it" — he 
stopped  for  a  moment,  as  if  his  memory  suddenly  failed  him — 
"somehow — a  long  time  ago.  It  is  a  story  which  shows  how 
our  sins  and  follies  fall  upon  our  own  children.  This  family 
sprang  from  the  gutter.  First,  the  working-man ;  then  bis  son, 
the  shopkeeiier;  then  his  grandson,  who  became  a  great  lawyer; 
then  his  great-grantlson,  not  so  great  a  lawyer.  He,  you  see,  is 
the  first  of  the  family  who  begins  life  as  a  gentleman  and  is 
brought  up  among  gentlemen  ;  he  inherited  money ;  he  had  a 
practice ;  he  married  in  the  class  called  gentle,  and  had  children. 
But  he  lost  all  his  money,  and  in  despair  he  killed  himself.  Cous- 
inly affection  is  a  cold  thing  at  best.  It  helped  the  widow  to  a 
pittance,  and  sent  her  boys  to  a  cheap  school.  At  fifteen  they 
had  to  take  whatever  employment  they  could  get.  Observe  that 
this  branch  of  the  family  was  now  going  downhill  very  fast. 
The  future  of  a  bov  who  has  been  tauirlit  no  trade  and  haa  eu- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  2G5 

tcrcd  no  profession  is  black  indeed.  One  of  the  boys  went  out  to 
New  Zealand,  whicli  lias  little  to  <rive  a  friendless  boy.  Another 
enlisted,  served  three  years,  and  has  never  got  any  work  since.  I 
believe  he  carries  boards  about  the  street.  Another  became  a 
tenth-rate  actor,  and  now  starves  on  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  paid 
irregularly.  Another — the  youngest — was  put  into  a  merchant's 
olHoe.  lie  rose  to  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year;  he  mar- 
ried a  girl  of  the  clerkly  class — that  woman  you  saw ;  he  took  to 
drink;  he  embezzled  his  master's  money;  he  went  to  prison;  lie 
is  now  liopelessly  ruined,  lie  cannot  get  any  lower  in  the  social 
scale.  What  will  his  cliildrcn  do?  They  have  no  friends.  They 
will  grow  up  like  the  children  around  them ;  they  will  join  the 
hopeless  casuals;  they  will  be  hewers  of  wood.  Property,  my 
child  —  property  has  done  this.  He  stole.  In  our  society  no- 
body will  be  tempted  to  steal.  He  drank — with  us  he  would  be 
kept  judiciously  under  contiol  until  he  could  be  trusted  again. 
That  would  be  the  care  of  the  State.  He  is  another  victim  of 
property.  When  his  grandfather  was  framing  Acts  of  Parliament 
for  the  protection  of  property,  he  did  not  dream  that  he  was  mak- 
ing another  engine  for  the  oppression  of  his  grandchildren." 

Said  the  other  voice:  "  We  rise  by  our  virtues.  We  sink  by  our 
vices.  Let  these  people  suffer.  Their  sufferings  should  make  the 
rest  of  us  wiser.  Teach  the  children  to  rise  again  as  their  great- 
grandfather rose.  Do  not  contend  against  the  great  law  which 
metes  out  suffering  in  return  for  vice." 

"Those,"  continued  the  Socialist  professor, "  who  do  most  to 
make  a  few  men  rich  are  the  real  enemies  of  what  they  suppose 
themselves  to  be  defending.  Given  a  thousand  women  sweated 
for  one  man,  and  there  presently  arises  indignation  cither  among 
the  women  or  among  the  bystanders.  From  indignation  we  get 
revolution,  because  the  employer  never  gives  way.  He  cannot. 
He  would  lose,  if  he  did,  his  wealth,  which  is  his  heaven.  If  you 
divide  the  thousand  women  into  companies  of  ten,  each  company 
iiiidor  its  own  sweater,  and  all  the  sweaters  under  other  sweaters, 
you  make  a  hierarchy  of  sweaters,  culminating  in  one  at  the  top. 
That  was  the  old  state  of  things.  The  man  at  the  top  was  a 
chief,  a  patriarch;  he  knew  his  people;  he  sweated  them,  but 
kindly  ;  he  tossed  them  crumbs  ;  he  looked  after  the  sick  and  the 
old.  Now  all  this  is  changing.  The  old  family  tic — such  as  it 
was — is  dissolved.  The  man  at  the  top  lias  disappeared  ;  a  board 
12 


266  THE    IVORY    GATE 

of  directors  has  taken  his  place ;  there  is  nothing  left  but  the 
board  and  its  employees.  The  men  who  work  are  no  longer  in- 
terested in  the  business  of  the  firni,  except  so  far  as  their  pay  is 
conceniod.  Their  pay  will  go  up,  and  the  dividends  will  go  down. 
And  with  every  increase  of  wages  so  much  property  is  destroyed. 
Let  everything — everything — be  turned  into  companies  to  help 
the  destruction  of  property." 

Said  the  other  voice :  "  Property  is  strengthened  by  being  dif- 
fused. Companies  organize  labor;  they  give  capital  its  proper 
power;  they  are  not  easily  intimidated;  they  interest  all  who  can 
save  anything.  Let  us  turn  into  companies  every  industrial  and 
distributive  business  in  the  country." 

"All  times  of  change,"  the  master  went  on,  "are  times  of  in- 
terest. Wc  arc  living  at  a  time  when  great  changes  arc  impend- 
ing— tiic  greatest  changes  possible.  Before  great  changes  there 
is  always  a  period  of  unconscious  preparation.  The  minds  of 
people  are  being  trained.  Without  any  perception  of  the  fact, 
old  ideas  are  dying  out  and  new  ones  are  coming  into  existence. 
When  the  revolution  actually  arrives  everybody  is  ready  for  it, 
and  noboily  is  surprised.  It  was  so  with  the  Reformation.  For 
a  hundred  years  and  more  the  idea  of  the  Great  Revolt  had  been 
slowly  growing  in  men's  minds.  When  it  came  at  last  there  was 
no  surprise,  and  there  were  few  regrets.  For  a  hundred  years  and 
more  the  ideas  of  the  French  Revolution  had  been  talked  about  by 
philosophers;  these  ideas  sank  down  among  the  people.  Nobody 
was  surprised,  not  even  the  nobles  themselves,  when  the  end 
came.  So  with  our  revolution.  It  is  coming — it  is  coming — its 
ideas  are  no  longer  timidly  advanced — here  and  there — by  a  fa- 
natic here  or  a  philosopher  there;  they  are  lying  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people,  ready  to  spur  them  into  action  ;  they  are  hel[)ing  on 
the  cause  by  successive  steps,  every  one  of  which  means  nothing 
less  than  the  abolition  of  property.  These  things  are  new  to  yon, 
child.  You  were  only  born  yesterday  or  the  day  before.  I  was 
born  a  hundred  years  ago  or  thereabouts.  Consider  again  " — he 
leaned  against  a  lamp-post  for  greater  ease,  and  discoursed  as  one 
addressing  an  audience — "  consider,  I  say,  this  great  question  of 
companies  and  their  results.  Formerly,  one  man  made  things 
which  he  took  to  market — sold  or  exchanged,  and  went  home 
again.  He,  by  himself,  did  everything.  Then  one  man  made, 
and  another  man  sold.     The  next  improvement  was  for  twenty 


THE    IVORY    GATE  267 

men  to  work,  for  one  to  receive  and  to  collect  their  work,  and  for 
another  to  sell  it.  In  this  way  the  twenty  remained  poor,  and  the 
two  became  rich.  So  they  went  on,  and  trade  flourished,  and  the 
twenty  producers  more  and  more  fell  into  the  power  of  the  two, 
who  were  now  very  rich  and  strong.  Now  the  merchants  are 
forming  themselves  into  companies,  and  the  companies  are  amal- 
gamating with  each  other,  and  the  small  people  may  contemplate 
ruin.  For  these — now  merchants,  shopkeepers,  manufacturers, 
workmen — there  will  be  nothing  but  service  in  the  companies; 
no  possibility  of  acquiring  property,  nothing  but  service  all  their 
lives.  Now  do  you  see  how  that  helps  the  cause?  They  will  be- 
come accustomed  to  work,  but  not  for  themselves;  they  will  grow 
accustomed  to  work  for  a  bare  living,  and  no  more ;  they  won't 
like  either,  but  they  will  ask  why  the  second  should  go  with  the 
first ;  the  two  great  obstacles  to  Socialism  will  be  removed.  Then, 
cither  the  step  I  spoke  of  just  now — the  abolition  of  the  divi- 
dends— or,  which  is  just  as  likely,  a  revolution,  when  the  servants 
of  the  companies  shall  make  the  State  take  over  all  and  work  them 
for  the  good  of  all.  Some  there  arc  who  think  that  the  workman 
will  have  hope  and  power  for  union  crushed  out  of  him.  I  think 
not;  but  if  so — woe  to  the  rich  I  The  Jacquerie  and  the  French 
llcvolution  will  be  spoken  of  as  mild  ebullitions  of  popular  feel- 
ing compared  with  what  will  happen  then.  But  I  think  not.  I 
do  not  believe  that  the  working-man  will  sink  again.  lie  has  got 
up  so  far.     But  he  needs  must  climb  higher. 

"You  th.ink  it  would  be  impossible" — by  this  time  a  small 
crowd  had  got  round  them,  but  the  speaker  still  addressed  his 
disciple  as  if  no  one  else  at  all  was  listening — "for  the  State  to 
take  over  the  great  producing  and  distributing  companies.  ]]ut 
it  has  been  done  already.  The  State  has  the  post  and  the  tele- 
giapli  services.  They  will  deal  with  railways,  steamers,  coaches, 
cabs,  omnibuses,  trams,  canals,  water,  gas,  electric  light,  brewer- 
ies, bakeries,  factories,  shops,  just  as  they  have  dealt  with  these 
two.  The  State  can  take  it  all.  The  State  will  take  the  manage- 
ment of  all.  But,  you  say,  the  shares  of  the  company  will  be- 
come funds.  They  will,  and  the  funds  will  pay  interest — but  the 
interest  will  become  rapidly  lower  and  lower,  so  that  what  was 
once  five  per  cent,  is  now  but  two  and  a  half,  and  before  long 
shall  be  two — one  and  a  half — one — and  nothing  at  all.  There 
will  be  Do  cry  of  spoliation,  because  the  holders  of  stock  will  be 


2G8  THE    IVORY    GATE 

forced  gradually  into  joolcinj;  more  and  more  to  their  own  efforts, 
and  because  widows  and  sick  people  and  old  people,  to  whom  the 
stocks  were  once  so  useful,  will  be  all  provided  for  by  the  State 
as  a  matter  of  right,  and  without  any  of  the  old  humiliation  of 
paupcrdom.  Pauper?  Oh  !  heavenly  word  !  Child,  in  the  world 
of  the  future — the  world  which  you  will  help  to  mould — we  shall 
all  be  paupers — every  one." 

lie  spoke  with  fine  enthusiasm,  his  face  lit  up,  liis  eyes  briij^ht. 
The  girl  was  almost  carried  away,  until  the  other  voice  began, 
coldly  and  judicially, 

"  Nothing  is  so  good  for  man  as  to  be  ruled  and  kept  in  dis- 
cipline, service,  and  subjection.  It  is  a  foolish  and  a  mischievous 
dream  which  supposes  all  men  eager  for  advance.  The  mass  of 
mankind  asks  for  no  advancement.  It  loves  nothing  and  desires 
nothing  but  the  gratification  of  the  animal.  Give  it  plenty  of 
animalism  and  it  is  satisfied.  That  condition  of  society  which 
keeps  the  mass  down  and  provides  for  the  rise  of  the  ambitious 
few  is  the  only  condition  which  is  reasonable  and  tstablc.  Base 
your  social  order  on  the  inertness  of  the  mass.  Make  the  work- 
man do  a  good  day's  work  ;  pay  him  enough,  so  that  he  shall 
have  some  of  the  comforts  he  desires;  educate  the  clever  boy, 
and  make  him  foreman,  head-man,  manager,  or  artist,  journalist, 
dramatist,  novelist.  Give  him  the  taste  for  wealth.  Let  him 
have  some.  Then  he,  too,  will  be  ready  to  fight,  if  necessary,  in 
the  army  of  order." 

AYliile  the  other  voice  was  speaking,  there  camr  slouching 
around  the  corner,  into  the  street  where  he  held  the  fifth — perl,  ps 
the  tenth — part  of  a  room — a  really  excellent  specimen  of  the  com- 
mon or  London  thief — the  habitual  criminal.  He  was  a  young 
man — the  habitual  criminal  is  generally  young,  because  in  middle 
and  elderly  life  he  is  doing  long  sentences ;  he  had  a  furtive  look, 
such  as  that  with  which  the  jackal  sallies  forth  on  nocturnal  ad- 
ventures;  he  had  a  short,  slight  figure,  a  stooping  and  slouching 
gait,  and  narrow  shoulders.  His  eyes  were  bright,  but  too  close 
together;  his  mouth  was  too  large,  and  his  jowl  too  heavy;  his 
face  was  pale ;  his  hair  was  still  short,  though  growing  rapidly ; 
his  hands  were  pendulous ;  his  round  hat  was  too  big  for  his  lit- 
tle head  ;  he  wore  a  long,  loose  overcoat.  Uis  face,  his  figure,  his 
look,  proclaimed  aloud  what  he  was. 

Ue  stopped  at  the  corner,  and  looked  at  the  little  crowd.     Ev- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  2C9 

crybody,  for  diflorcnt  reasons,  is  attracted  by  a  crowd.  Trofcs- 
sionals  sometimes  find  in  crowds  golden  opportunities.  Tliis 
crowd,  however,  was  already  dispersing.  Tlic  speaker  had  stopped. 
Perhaps  they  had  hoard  other  and  more  fervid  orators  on  the  So- 
cialist side.  Perhaps  they  were  not  in  the  least  interested  in  the 
subject.  You  see,  it  is  very  difficult  to  get  the  hand-to-mouth 
class  interested  in  anything  except  those  two  organs. 

"  This  street,"  said  the  master,  observing  liim  with  professional 
interest,  "is  full — really  full— of  wealth  for  the  observer.  Here 
is  a  c:\se  now — an  instructive  though  a  common  case."  The  fel- 
low was  turning  away,  disappointed,  perhaps,  at  the  raelting  of 
the  crowd  and  any  little  hope  he  might  have  based  upon  their 
pockets.  "My  friend" — he  heard  himself  called,  and  looked 
round  suspiciously — "  you  would  like,  perhaps,  to  cam  a  shilling 
honestly,  for  once." 

lie  turned  slowly  ;  at  the  sight  of  the  coin  held  up  before  him 
his  sharp  eyes  darted  right  and  left  to   see  what  chance  there 
might  be  of  a  grab  and  a  bolt.     Apparently,  he  decided  against 
this  method  of  earning  the  shilling. 
"  What  for  f '  he  asked. 

"By  answering  a  few  questions.     Where  were  you  born." 
"  I  dunno." 

"Where  were  you  brought  up?  Here?  in  this  street?  Very 
well.  You  went  to  school  with  the  other  children ;  you  were 
taught  certain  subjects  up  to  a  certain  standard.  What  trade 
were  you  taught  ?" 

"  I  wasn't  taught  no  trade." 

'Your  father  was,  I  believe,  a  thief?"  The  lad  nodded. 
"And  your  mother,  too?"  lie  nodded  again,  and  grinned. 
"  And  you  yourself  and  your  brothers  and  sisters  are  all  in  the 
same  line,  I  suppose?"  Uc  nodded  and  grinned  again.  "  Uere 
is  your  shilling."     The  fellow  took  it,  and  shambled  away. 

"  Father,  mother,  the  whole  family,  live  by  stealing.  Where 
tliere  is  no  property  there  can  be  no  theft.  In  our  world  such 
a  creature  would  be  impossible,  lie  could  not  be  born  ;  such 
parents  as  his  could  not  exist  with  us ;  he  could  not  be  devel- 
oped; there  would  be  no  surroundings  that  would  make  such  a 
development  possible.  He  would  be  what,  I  believe,  men  of  sci- 
ence call  a  sport;  he  would  be  a  deformity.  We  should  put  him 
in  a  hospital,  and  keep  him  there  until  he  died." 


2*70  THE    IVORY    GATE 

*'  In  tliat  world,"  said  the  other  voice,  "  there  would  be  deform- 
ities of  even  a  worse  kind  than  this — the  dcforniitics  of  hypoc- 
risy and  shams.  Ijv  a  thousand  shifts  and  lies  and  dishonesties 
the  work  of  the  world  would  be  shifted  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
weak.  The  strong  man  has  always  used  his  strength  to  make 
the  weak  man  work  for  him,  and  he  always  will.  The  destruc- 
tion of  property  would  be  fullowcnl  by  the  birth  of  property  on 
the  very  self-same  day.  There  is  tiie  power  of  creation — of  in- 
vention— which  is  also  a  kind  of  property.  Laws  cannot  destroy 
that  power.  Laws  cannot  make  men  industrious.  Laws  cannot 
make  the  strong  man  work  for  the  weak.  Laws  cannot  prevent 
the  clever  man  from  taking  advantage  of  the  stupid  man.  When 
all  the  failures,  all  the  deformities,  Lave  been  killed  off,  the  able 
man  will  still  prey  upon  the  dull-witted.  liettcr  let  the  poor 
wretch  live  out  his  miserable  life,  driven  from  prison  to  prison,  an 
example  for  all  the  world  to  sec." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Elsie  discovered  the  loss  of  her  purse. 
ller  pocket  had  been  picked  by  one  of  the  intelligent  listeners  in 
the  crowd.  She  cried  out  on  finding  what  had  happened,  in  the 
unphilosophic  surprise  and  indignation  with  which  this  quite 
common  accident  is  always  received. 

"  Child,"  said  the  master,  "  when  there  is  no  longer  any  prop- 
erty money  will  vanish;  there  will  be  no  purses;  even  the  j)ock- 
et  will  disappear,  because  there  will  no  longer  be  any  use  for  a 
pocket.  Did  the  purse  contain  much?  Suppose  you  had  noth- 
ing to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain.  Think  of  the  lightness  of  heart, 
the  sunshine  on  all  faces,  which  would  follow.  I  fear  you  are 
rich,  child.  I  have  observed  little  signs  about  you  which  denote 
riches.  Your  gloves  are  neat  and  good ;  your  dress  seems  costly. 
Better  far  if  you  had  nothing." 

"Master,  if  I  wore  like  that  girl  on  the  other  side  would  you 
like  me  better?  Could  I  be  more  useful  to  the  cause  if  I  dressed 
like  her?" 

The  girl  was  of  the  common  type — they  really  do  seem,  at  first, 
all  alike — who  had  on  an  ulster,  and  a  hat  with  a  feather,  and 
broken  boots. 

"  If  I  were  like  her,"  Elsie  went  on,  "  I  should  be  ignorant — 
and  obliged  to  give  the  whole  day  to  work,  so  that  I  should  be 
useless  to  you — and  my  manners  would  be  rough  and  my  lan- 
guage coarse.  It  is  because  I  am  not  poor  that  I  am  what  I  am. 
The  day  for  poverty  is  not  come  yet,  dear  master." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  27l 

"In  the  future,  dear  cbild,  there  shall  be  no  poverty  and  no 
riches.  To  have  nothing  will  be  the  common  lot.  To  have  all 
will  be  the  common  inheritance.  Oh!  there  will  be  diflPerences; 
men  shall  be  as  unlike  then  as  now;  we  shall  not  all  desire  the 
same  things.  You  and  such  as  you  will  desire  art  of  every  kind. 
You  shall  have  what  you  desire.  In  our  world,  as  in  this,  like 
will  to  like.  You  shall  have  the  use  for  yourselves  of  pictures, 
of  musical  instruments,  of  everything  that  you  want.  The  rest 
of  the  world  will  not  want  these  things.  If  they  do,  more  can 
be  made.  You  shall  have  dainty  food — the  rest  of  the  world 
will  always  like  coarse  and  common  fare.  Think  not  that  we 
shall  level  up  or  level  down.  All  will  be  left  to  rise  or  to  sink. 
Only  they  shall  not  starve,  they  shall  not  thieve,  they  shall  not  be 
sweated.  Oh  !  I  know  thoy  paint  our  society  as  attempts  to  make 
all  equal.  And  they  think  that  we  expect  men  no  longer  to  de- 
sire the  good  things  in  the  world.  They  will  desire  them — they 
will  hunger  after  them— but  there  will  be  enough  for  all.  The 
man  who  is  contented  with  a  dinner  of  lierbs  may  go  to  a  Car- 
thusian convent,  which  is  his  place,  for  we  shall  have  no  place  for 
him  in  a  world  which  recognizes  all  good  gifts  and  assigns  to 
every  man  his  share." 

Then  spoke  the  other  voice,  but  sadly,  "  Dreams !  Dreams  ! 
There  are  not  enough  of  the  good  things  to  go  round — good 
things  would  become  less  instead  of  more.  Without  the  spur 
there  is  no  work.  Without  the  desire  of  creating  property  all 
that  is  worth  anything  in  life  will  perish — all  but  the  things  that 
are  the  lowest  and  the  meanest  and  the  commonest.  Men  will 
not  work  unless  they  must.  By  necessity  alone  can  the  finest 
work  be  ordered  and  executed.  As  men  have  been  so  will  men 
always  be.     The  thing  that  hath  been,  that  shall  be  again." 

"  You  have  learned  some  of  the  lessons  of  Poverty  Lane,  schol- 
ar," said  the  master.    "  Let  us  now  go  home." 


272  TUE    IVOUY    GATE 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

"  I     KNOW     THE     MAN   " 

"Another  cvcnlnc^  of  mystery,  Elsie?"  said  AUielstan. 

"  Yes,  another,  and  perhaps  another.  l>nt  \vc  arc  gcttinn;  to 
an  end.  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  all  to-day  or  to-morrow.  The 
thing  is  becoming  too  great  for  me  alone." 

"  You  shall  tell  us  when  you  please.  Meantime,  nothing  new 
lias  been  found  out,  I  believe.  Chccklcy  still  glares,  George  tells 
me.  But  the  opinion  of  the  clerks  seems,  on  the  whole,  more 
favorable,  he  believes,  than  it  was.  Of  that,  however,  he  is  not, 
perhaps,  a  good  judge." 

"They  shall  all  be  turned  out,"  cried  Elsie.  "How  dare  they 
so  much  as  to  discuss — " 

"My  sister,  it  is  a  very  remarkable  thing,  and  a  thing  little 
understood,  but  it  is  a  true  thing.  Peoi)k',  j)eoplc — clerks  and 
le  service  generally — arc  distinctly  a  branch  of  the  great  human 
tribe.  They  are  anthropoid.  Therefore,  they  are  curious  and 
prying  and  suspicious.     Tiiey  have  our  own  faults,  my  dear." 

All  day  Elsie  felt  drawn  as  with  ropes  to  Mr.  Dering's  office. 
^Vas  it  possible  that  after  that  long  evening  among  the  lessons 
of  Poverty  Lane  he  shuuld  remember  nothing?  How  was  she 
to  get  at  him  ?  How  was  she  to  make  him  understand  or  believe 
what  he  had  done?  Could  she  make  the  sane  man  remember  the 
actions  and  words  of  the  insane  man  ?  Could  she  make  the  in- 
sane man  do  something  which  would  absolutely  identify  him  with 
the  sane  man?  She  could  always  array  her  witnesses,  but  she 
wanted  more — she  wanted  to  bring  Mr.  Dering  himself  to  under- 
stand that  he  was  Mr.  Edmund  Gray. 

She  made  an  excuse  for  calling  upon  him.  It  was  in  the 
afternoon,  about  four,  that  she  called.  She  found  him  looking 
aged,  his  face  lined,  his  cheek  pale,  his  eyes  anxious. 

"This  business  worries  me,"  he  said.  "Day  and  night  it  is 
with  me.     I  am  persecuted  and  haunted  with  this  Edmund  Gray. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  273 

His  tracts  are  put  into  my  pockets;  his  papers  into  my  safe;  he 
laughs  at  me ;  he  defies  me  to  find  him.  And  they  do  nothing. 
They  only  accuse  eacli  other.     They  find  nothing." 

"Patience,"  said  Elsie  softly.  "Only  a  few  days — a  day  or 
two — then — with  your  help — we  will  unravel  all  this  trouble. 
You  shall  lose  nothing." 

"Shall  I  escape  this  mocking  devil — this  Edmund  Gray?" 

"I  cannot  promise.  Perhaps.  Now,  my  dear  guardian,  I  am 
to  be  married  next  Wednesday.  I  want  you  to  be  present  at  my 
wedding." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  things  have  been  said  about  George;  and  because 
your  presence  will  effectually  prove  that  you  do  not  believe 
them." 

"Oh!  believe  them?  I  believe  nothing.  It  is,  however,  my 
experience  that  there  is  no  act,  however  base,  that  any  man  may 
not  be  tempted  to  do." 

"  Happily,  it  is  my  experience,"  said  the  girl  of  twenty-one, 
"  that  there  is  no  act  of  baseness,  however  small,  that  certain 
men  could  possibly  commit.  You  will  come  to  my  wedding, 
then.     Athclstan  will  give  me  away." 

"  Athelstan  ?  Yes,  I  remember.  We  found  those  notes, 
didn't  we  .^  I  wonder  who  put  them  into  the  safe  I  Athelstan  ! 
Yes.  He  has  been  living  in  low  company,  I  heard — Cambcrwell 
— rags  and  tatters." 

"Oh!"  Elsie  stamped  impatiently.  "You  will  believe  any- 
thing— anything,  and  you  a  lawyer !  Athclstan  is  in  the  service 
of  a  great  American  journal.     Kags  and  tatters!" 

"American?  Oh!  yes."  Mr.  Dering  sat  up  and  looked 
interested.  "  Why,  of  course.  How  could  I  forget  it.  Had  it 
been  yesterday  evening  I  should  have  forgot.  But  it  is  four 
years  ago.  He  wrote  to  nie  from  somewhere  in  America. 
Where  was  it?  Pve  got  the  letter.  It  is  in  the  safe.  Bring 
me  the  bottom  right-hand  drawer.  It  is  there,  I  know."  He 
look  the  drawer  which  Elsie  brought  him,  and  turned  over  the 
papers.  "  Here  it  is  among  the  papers  of  that  forgery.  Here 
is  the  letter."  He  gave  it  to  Elsie.  "  Read  it.  He  writes  from 
America,  you  see.  He  was  in  the  States  four  years  ago — and — 
and —     What  is  it?" 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Elsie,  suddenly  springing  from  her  chair — "  oh  ! 
12* 


274  THE    IVORV    GATE 

do  you  know  what  you  have  given  me?  Oh  !  do  you  know  what 
you  liavc  told  nic?  It  is  the  secret — the  secret  of  my  fortune. 
Oh  !  Athelstan  gave  it  to  me — Athelstan — my  brotlier  !" 

Mr.  Dcring  took  tlie  letter  from  Iicr,  and  ghmced  at  the  con- 
tents. "  I  ought  not  to  have  shown  yon  the  letter,"  he  said.  "I 
have  violated  confidence.  I  forgot,  I  was  thinking  of  the  trou- 
ble— I  forgot.  I  forget  everything  now — the  things  of  yesterday 
as  well  as  the  things  of  to-day.  Yes ;  it  is  true,  child — your  little 
fortune  came  to  you  from  ycnir  brother.  But  it  was  a  secret  that 
lie  alone  had  the  right  to  reveal." 

"  And  now  I  know  it — I  know  it.  Oh  !  what  shall  I  say  to 
liim  ?"  The  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  "He  gave  me  all  he  had 
— all  he  had — because — oh!  for  such  a  simple  thing — because  I 
would  not  believe  him  to  be  a  villain.  Oh  !  my  brother — my 
poor  brother  I  He  went  back  into  poverty  again.  lie  gave  me 
all — because — oh  I  for  such  a  little  thing —  Mr.  Dcring!" — she 
turned  almost  fiercely  u[>ou  him — "after  such  a  letter,  could  you 
believe  that  man  to  be  a  villain  ?  Could  you?  Tell  me!  After 
such  a  deed  and  such  a  letter !" 

"I  believe  nothing.  My  experience,  however,  tells  me  that  any 
man,  whoever  he  is,  may  be  led  to  commit — " 

"A"o/  I  won't  have  it  said  again —  Now,  listen,  Mr.  Dcr- 
ing. These  suspicions  must  cease.  There  must  be  an  end, 
Athelstan  returned  si.\  weeks  ago — or  thereabouts.  That  can  be 
proved.  Before  that  time  he  was  working  in  San  Francisco  on 
the  journal.  That  can  be  proved.  While  these  forgeries,  with 
which  he  is  now  so  freely  charged,  were  carried  on  here,  he  was 
abroad,  I  don't  ask  you  to  believe  or  to  disbelieve  or  to  bring 
np  your  experience — oh  !  such  experience — one  would  think  you 
had  been  a  police  magistrate  all  your  life." 

"  No,  Elsie."  Mr.  Dering  smiled  grimly.  "  There  was  no 
need  to  sit  upon  the  bench ;  the  police  magistrate  does  not  hear 
so  much  as  the  family  solicitor.  My  dear,  prove  your  brother's 
innocence  by  finding  out  who  did  the  thing.  That  is,  after  all^ 
the  only  thing.  It  matters  nothing  what  I  believe — he  is  not 
proved  innocent — all  the  world  may  be  suspected  of  it — until  the 
criminal  is  found.  Remove  the  suspicions  which  have  gathered 
about  your  lover  by  finding  the  criminal.    There  is  no  other  way." 

"Very  well,  then.  I  will  find  the  criminal,  since  no  one  else 
can." 


THE    IVORV    GATE  275 

Mr.  Dcrinj;  went  on,  without  heeding  lier  words. 

"  They  want  to  get  out  a  warrant  against  Edmund  Gra}'.  I 
think,  for  my  own  part,  that  the  man  Edmund  Gray  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  business.  He  is  said  to  be  an  elderly  man  and  a 
respectable  man — a  gentleman — wlio  lias  held  his  chambers  for 
ten  years." 

"  They  need  not  worry  about  a  warrant,"  Elsie  replied.  "  Tell 
your  brother,  Mr.  Dering,  that  it  will  be  perfectly  useless.  Mean- 
time— I  doubt  if  it  is  any  good  asking  you — but — if  we  want 
your  help,  will  you  give  me  all  the  help  you  can?"' 

"Assuredly.  All  tlie  lielp  I  can.  Why  not?  I  am  tlic  prin- 
cipal person  concerned.'" 

"  You  are,  indeed,"  said  Elsie  gravely,  "  the  principal  person 
concerned.  Very  well,  Mr.  Dering — now  I  will  tell  you  more. 
I  know  the — the  criminal.  I  can  put  my  hand  upon  him  at  any 
moment.  It  is  one  man  who  has  done  the  whole,  beginning  with 
tlie  check  for  which  Athelstan  was  suspected — one  man  alone." 

"  Why,  child,  what  can  you  know  about  it?  What  can  you 
do?" 

"  You  were  never  in  love,  Mr.  Dering,  else  you  would  under- 
stand tliat  a  girl  will  do  a  great  deal — oh  !  a  great  deal  more  than 
yon  would  think — for  her  lover — it  is  not  much  to  think  for  him 
and  to  watch  for  him — and  for  her  brother — the  brother  wlio  has 
stripped  himself  of  everything  to  give  his  sister — "  She  was  fain 
to  pause,  for  the  tears  which  rose  again  and  choked  her  voice. 

"  But,  Elsie,  what  does  this  mean?  IIow  can  you  know  what 
no  one  else  has  been  able  to  find  out?" 

"  That  is  my  affair,  Mr.  Dering.     Perhaps  I  dreamed  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  will  get  back  all  the  papers — all  the 
transfers — the  dividends  that  have  been  diverted — everything?" 

"Everything  is  safe.  Everytliing  shall  be  restored.  My  dear 
guardian,  it  is  a  long  and  a  sad  story.  I  cannot  tell  you  now. 
Presently,  perhaps — or  to-morrow.  I  do  not  know  how  I  shall 
be  able  to  tell  you.  But  for  your  property,  rest  easy.  Every- 
thing will  come  back  to  you — everything — except  that  which  can- 
not be  stored  in  the  vaults  of  the  bank." 

The  last  words  he  heard  not,  or  understood  not. 

"I  shall  get  back  everything!"  The  eyes  of  the  individualist 
lit  up,  and  his  pale  cheek  glowed — old  age  has  still  some  pleasures. 
"  It  is  not  until  one  loses  property  that  one  finds  out  how  pre- 


276  THE    IVORY    GATE 

cions  it  has  become  Elsie,  you  remember  what  I  told  yon  a  day 
or  two  ago — ah  !  I  don't  forget  quite  everything — a  man  is  not 
the  shivering  naked  soul  only,  but  the  complete  figure,  equipped 
and  clothed,  armed  and  decorated,  bearing  with  him  his  skill,  his 
wit,  his  ingenuity,  his  learning,  his  past  and  his  present,  his 
memories  and  his  rejoicings,  his  sorrows  and  his  trials,  bis  suc- 
cesses and  his  failures,  and  his  property — yes,  his  property.  Take 
away  from  him  any  of  these  things,  and  lie  is  mutilated  ;  he  is 
not  the  perfect  soul.  Why,  you  tell  me  that  my  property  is  com- 
ing back — I  awake  again  ;  I  feci  stronger  already  ;  the  shadows 
arc  flying  before  mc;  oven  the  terror  of  tliat  strange  forgetful- 
ness  recedes,  and  the  liauntiiig  of  E(hnnnd  Gray.  I  can  bear  all, 
if  I  get  my  property  back  again.  As  for  this  forger — this  mis- 
creant— this  criminal — you  will  hale  him  before  the  judge — " 

"  Yes,  yes.  We  will  see  about  tlic  miscreant  afterwards. 
The  first  tiling  is  to  find  the  man,  and  recover  your  property,  and 
to  dispel  the  suspicions  vesting  on  innocent  persons.  If  I  do  the 
former  you  must  aid  me  in  the  latter." 

"  Assuredly.  I  shall  not  shrink  from  that  duty." 
"Very  well.  Now  tell  me  about  yourself.  Sometimes  it  does 
good  to  talk  about  our  own  troubles.  Toll  me  more  about  these 
forgetful  fits.  Do  they  trouble  you  still  ?"  Her  eyes  and  her 
voice  were  soft  and  winning.  One  must  be  of  granite  to  resist 
such  a  voice  and  such  eyes. 

"  Mv  dear" — Mr.  Dcring  softened — "you  are  good  to  inter- 
est yourself  in  an  old  man's  ailments.     It  is  Anno  Domini  that  is 
the  matter  with  me.     The  forgetful  fits  are  only  symptoms — and 
the  disease  is  incurable.     Ask  the  oak  why  the  leaves  are  yellow. 
It  is  the  hand  of  winter.     That  is  my  complaint.     First  the  hand 
of  winter,  then  the  hand  of  death.     Meantime,  the  voice  of  the 
grasshopper  sings  loud  and  shrill."     In  presence  of  the  simple 
things  of  age  and  death  even  a  hard  old  lawyer  grows  poetic. 
"  Tell  me  the  symptoms,  then.     Do  you  still  forget  tilings?" 
"  Constantly.     More  and  more.     I  forget  everything." 
"  Where  were  you  yesterday  evening,  for  instance?" 
"  I  don't  know.     I  cannot  remember.     I  have  left  off  even  try- 
ing to  remember.     At  one  time  I  racked  my  brains  for  hours  to 
find  out,  and  failed.     Now  I  remember  nothing.     I  never  know 
when  this  forgctfulness  may  fall  upon  me.     At  any  hour.     For 
instance — you  ask  me  about  yesterday  evening.     I  ordered  din- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  277 

ner  at  home.  My  housekeeper  this  mornlnof  reminded  me  that  I 
did  not  get  home  last  night  till  eleven.  Where  was  I?  Where 
did  I  spend  the  evening?" 

"At  the  club?" 

"  No — I  took  a  cab  this  morning,  and  drove  there  under  pre- 
tence of  asking  for  letters.  I  asked  if  I  was  there  last  night. 
The  hall-porter  stared.  But  I  was  not  there.  I  thought  that  I 
miglit  have  fallen  asleep  here.  I  have  done  so  before.  Checkley 
tells  me  that  I  went  away  before  him.  Where  was  I? — child  !" — 
he  leaned  forward,  and  whispered,  with  white  checks — "  I  have 
read  of  men  going  about  with  disordered  brains  doing  wliat  they 
afterwards  forgot.  Am  I  one  of  those  unfortunates?  Do  I  go 
about  with  my  wits  wandering?  Oh!  horrible!  I  picture  to 
myself  an  old  man — such  as  myself — of  unblemished  reputation 
and  blameless  life — wandering  about  the  streets  demented — with- 
out conscience — without  dignity — without  self-respect — commit- 
ting follies — things  disgraceful — even  things  which  bring  men  be- 
fore the  law — "     lie  shuddered.     He  turned  pale. 

"No,  no,"  murmured  Elsie.  "You  could  not.  You  could 
never — " 

"  Such  tilings  are  on  record.  They  have  happened.  They  may 
happen  again.  I  have  read  of  such  cases.  There  was  a  man 
once — he  was,  like  myself,  a  solicitor — who  would  go  out  and 
buy  things,  not  knowing  what  he  did.  He  bought  new  hats — 
every  day  twenty  new  hats ;  cricket-bats,  though  he  was  long 
past  the  game  of  cricket;  once  he  bought  six  grand  pianos — six 
— though  he  knew  not  the  use  of  any  instrument.  Then  they 
gave  him  a  companion,  and  he  found  out  what  he  had  done.  The 
shame  and  the  shock  of  it  killed  him.  I  have  thought  of  that 
man  of  late.  Good  lieavens  !  Think,  if  you  can,  of  any  worse 
disaster.  Let  me  die — let  me  die,  I  say,  rather  than  suffer  such 
a  fate — such  an  affliction.  I  see  myself  brought  before  the  mag- 
istrate— me — myself — at  my  age,  charged  with  this  and  with 
that.     What  defence?     None,  save  that  I  did  not  remember." 

"  That  could  never  be,"  said  Elsie  confidently,  because  she 
knew  the  facts.  "  If  such  a  thing  were  to  befall,  your  character 
would  never  be  changed.  You  might  talk  and  think  differently, 
but  you  could  never  be  otherwise  than  a  good  man.  You  to 
haunt  low  company?  Oh!  you  could  not  even  in  a  waking 
dream.     People  who  dream,  I  am  sure,  always  remain  themselves, 


278  THE    IVORY    GATE 

however  stratif^ely  they  may  act.  How  could  yon — you — after 
such  a  life  as  yours,  beconic  a  liaunter  of  low  company?  One 
miijlit,  perhaps,  suppose  that  Atbelstan  had  been  living  among 
profligates  because  he  is  young  and  untried — but  you  ? — yon  ? 
Oh  !  no.  If  you  iiad  these  waking  dreams — perhaps  you  have 
them — you  would  become — you  would  become — I  really  think 
vou  would  become" — she  watched  his  face — "such — such  a  man 
as — as — Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  who  is  so  like  yourself,  and  yet  so 
different." 

He  started.  "Edmund  Gray  again?  Good  heavens!  It  is 
always  Edmund  Gray  I" 

"  He  is  now  a  friend  of  mine.  I  liave  only  known  him  for  a 
week  or  two.  He  does  not  think  quite  as  you  do.  liut  he  is  a 
good  man.  Since,  in  dreams,  we  do  strange  things,  you  might 
act  and  speak  and  think  as  Edmund  Gray." 

"/  speak  and  think  as —  But — am  I  dreaming?  Am  I  for- 
getting again?  Am  I  awake?  Edmund  Gray  is  the  man  whom 
\\c  want  to  find." 

"  I  have  found  him,"  said  Elsie  quietly. 

"  The  forger — if  he  is  the  forger — " 

"No,  no.  Do  not  make  more  mistakes.  You  shall  have  the 
truth  in  a  day  or  two.  Would  you  like  to  see  Edmund  Gray  ? 
Will  you  come  with  me  to  his  chambers?  Whenever  you  call 
you — you,  I  say — will  find  him  at  home." 

"  No,  no.  I  know  his  doctrines — futile  doctrines — mischievous 
doctrines.  I  do  not  wish  to  meet  him.  What  do  vf)U  mean  by 
mistake?  There  are  the  letters — there  arc  the  forgeries.  Arc 
there  two  Edmund  Grays?" 

"No — only  one.  He  is  the  man  they  cannot  find.  I  will 
show  you,  if  you  like,  what  manner  of  man  he  is." 

"No.  I  do  not  want  to  see  a  Socialist.  I  should  insult  him. 
You  are  mysterious,  Elsie.  You  know  this  man — this  mischievous 
doctrinaire — this  leveller — this  spoliator.  You  tell  me  that  lie  is 
a  good  man — you  want  me  to  see  him.  What,  I  ask,  do  these 
things  mean  ?" 

"They  mean  many  things,  my  dear  guardian.  Chiefly  they 
mean  that  you  shall  get  back  your  property,  and  that  suspicion 
shall  be  removed  from  innocent  persons — and  all  this,  I  hope, 
before  next  Wednesday,  when  I  am  to  be  married.  We  must  all 
be  happy  on  my  wedding-day." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  279 

"  Will — will  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  be  there  as  well?" 

"lie  has  promised.  And  now,  my  dear  guardian,  if  you  will 
come  round  to  Gray's  Inn  with  me,  I  will  show  you  the  cham- 
bers of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray." 

"No,  no.  Thank  you,  Elsie — I  do  not  wish  to  make  the  per- 
sonal acquaintance  of  a  Socialist." 

"  He  has  chambers  on  the  second  floor.  The  principal  room 
is  large  and  well  furnished.  It  is  a  wainscoted  room,  with  two 
windows  looking  on  the  square.  It  is  not  a  very  pretty  square, 
because  they  have  not  made  a  garden  or  laid  down  grass  in  the 
middle — and  the  houses  are  rather  dingy.  He  sits  there  in  the 
evening,  lie  writes  and  meditates.  Sometimes  he  teaches  me, 
but  that  is  a  new  thing.  In  the  morning  he  is  sometimes  there 
between  nine  o'clock  and  twelve.  He  has  an  old  laundress,  who 
pretends  to  keep  his  rooms  clean." 

She  murmured  these  words  softly,  thinking  to  turn  his  mem- 
ory back  and  make  him  understand  what  had  happened. 

*'  They  are  pleasant  rooms,  are  they  not  ?"  He  made  no  reply 
— liis  eyes  betrayed  trouble.  She  thought  it  was  the  trouble  of 
struggling  memory.  "  He  sits  here  alone,  and  works.  He  thinks 
he  is  working  for  the  advancement  of  the  world.  There  is  no 
one  so  good,  I  think,  as  Edmund  Gray." 

He  suddenly  pushed  back  the  chair,  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  My  scholar  !     You  speak  of  me  T' 

It  was  so  sudden  that  Elsie  cried  out,  and  fell  backwards  in  her 
chair.  She  had  brought  on  the  thing  by  her  own  words,  by  con- 
juring up  a  vision  of  the  chambers.  But — the  trouble  was  not 
the  struggle  of  the  memory  getting  hold  of  evasive  facts. 

"  Why,  child,"  he  remonstrated,  "  you  look  pale.  Is  it  the 
heat?  Come,  it  is  cooler  outside.  Let  us  go  to  the  chambers 
in  Gray's  Inn.  This  old  follow — this  Dcring — here  he  sits  all 
day  long.  It  is  Tom  Tiddler's  ground.  It  is  paved  with  gold, 
wliich  he  picks  up.  The  place — let  us  whisper,  because  he  must 
be  in  the  outer  office — it  reeks  of  property — reeks  of  property." 

He  took  his  hat  and  gloves.  "  My  scholar,  let  us  go.''  With 
the  force  of  habit  he  shut  and  locked  the  safe,  and  dropped  the 
bunch  of  keys  into  his  pocket. 


280  THE    IVORY    GATE 


CHAPTER   XXX 
athelstan's  discovery 

On  the  cvcninp;  of  that  same  day  the  same  discovery  was  made 
liy  anotlier  of  the  persons  chiefly  concerned. 

Yoii  liavc  seen  that  Athelstan  on  his  return  made  haste  to  find 
out  the  cominissionnairc  who  had  presented  the  forged  check. 
!Iap[)ily,  the  man  remembered  not  only  the  circumstance  itself, 
hut  also  his  employer  on  tliat  occasion.  A  generosity  far  above 
what  IS  commonly  fo>ind  among  those  who  employ  the  services 
of  that  corps  endeared  and  preserved  the  memory  of  the  day. 
He  had  received,  in  fact,  half  a  sovereign  for  an  cightcenpcnny 
job  ;  and  the  commissionnaire  is  not  like  the  cabby,  to  whom  such 
windfalls  are  common.  Not  at  all.  With  the  former  we  observe 
the  letter  of  the  law. 

After  eight  years  this  man's  memory  was  rewarded.  This 
thrice-blessed  job  produced  yet  more  golden  fruit.  Heard  one 
ever  of  a  more  prolific  job? 

After  breakfast,  Athelstan  was  informed  that  a  commission- 
naire desired  to  speak  with  Iiim.     It  was  his  one-armed  friend. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  saluting  after  the  military 
manner — "you  said  I  was  to  come  and  tell  you,  first  thing,  if  I 
found  your  man  for  you." 

"  Certainly.  I  told  you  also  that  I  would  give  you  a  five-pound 
reward  for  finding  my  man,  as  you  call  him.  Well — I  will  be  as 
good  as  ray  word  if  you  have  found  him." 

"  I  saw  him  yesterday.  The  very  same  old  gentleman  that 
sent  me  to  the  bank  that  day.  He's  older,  and  he  doesn't  look 
so  jolly,  and  he  walks  slower;  but  I  knew  him  at  once." 

"  Oh  I  are  you  quite  sure  ?    Because  a  resemblance,  you  know — " 

"Well,  sir,  I  can  swear  to  him.  I  remember  him  as  well  as  I 
remember  anybody.  He  sat  in  the  chair,  and  he  laughed,  and  he 
said,  '  You've  been  quick  over  the  job,  my  man.  There's  some- 
thing extra,  because  you  might  have  dropped  the  money  down  a 


THE    IVORY    GATE  281 

grating-,  or  run  away  with  it,  or  something,'  he  says.  '  Here's 
half  a  sovereign  for  you,  my  man,'  says  he;  'and  I  dare  say  you 
can  do  with  it.'  'I  can  so,  sir,'  I  says,  'and  with  as  many  more 
like  them  as  I  can  pick  up.'  Then  he  laughed,  and  I  laughed, 
and  we  both  laughed.  And  that's  the  same  man  that  I  saw  yes- 
terday evening." 

"Oh!  this  is  very  curious.     Are  you  quite  sure?" 

"I'd  swear  to  him  anywhere.     A  mnn  can't  say  fairer." 

"No — as  you  say — a  man  can  hardly  say  fairer,  can  he?  Now, 
then,  -when  did  you  see  him?" 

"It  was  between  six  and  seven.  I'd  !)ecn  doing  a  messar.-e  for 
a  gentleman  in  the  Strand — a  gentleman  in  the  dining-room  line 
to  a  gentleman  in  Ilolborn  in  the  sausage-and-tripe  line — and  I 
was  going  back  with  a  letter,  and  going  through  Lincoln's  Inn 
for  a  short  cut.  Just  as  I  was  getting  near  the  gate  to  the  Fields, 
I  saw  coming  out  of  the  door  at  No.  12  the  very  man  you  want 
to  find.  I  wasn't  thinking  about  liim,  not  a  bit — I  was  thinkinf^ 
of  nothing  at  all,  when  lie  come  out  of  the  door  and  walked  down 
the  steps.  Then  I  knew  him.  Lord  !  I  knew  him  at  once.  'You're 
the  man,'  I  says  to  myself,  '  as  give  me  the  half-sov.  instead  of 
eighteenpence.'  Well,  I  stood  at  the  corner,  and  waited  to  see  if 
he  would  remember  me.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  stared  at  me  hard, 
but  he  never  recollected  me  a  bit — I  could  see  that.  Why  should 
he  ?  Nobody  remembers  the  servant  any  more  than  they  remem- 
ber the  private  in  the  ranks.  The  very  same  old  gentleman  ;  but 
he's  grown  older,  and  he  didn't  look  jolly  any  more.  P'r'aps  he's 
lost  his  money." 

"Came  out  of  No.  12,  did  he?  Why,  Bering  6:  Son's  office 
is  there.     What  does  this  mean  ?" 

"I  thought  I'd  like  to  find  out  something  more  about  him; 
and  I  thought  that  a  five-pound  note  Avas  better  worth  looking 
after  than  eighteenpence — so  I  let  the  letter  from  the  tripe-and- 
sausage  man  lay  a  bit,  and  I  followed  my  old  gentleman  at  a 
good  distance." 

"Oh  !  you  followed  him.  Very  good.  Did  you  find  out  where 
he  lived  ?  I  can  tell  you  that.  He  went  to  No.  22  South  Square, 
Gray's  Inn." 

"No,  he  didn't,  sir.  But  you  are  not  very  far  wrong.  He 
went  through  Great  Turnstile;  then  he  crossed  Ilolborn  and 
turned  into  Featherstono  Buildings,  which  is  all  lodging-houses. 


282  THE    IVORY    GATE 

But  he  doesn't  live  there.  lie  walked  through  the  Buildings,  and 
so  into  Bedford  Row,  and  he  stopped  at  a  liousc  there — " 

"What!  in  Bedford  Row?" 

"Yes,  in  Bedford  Row — and  he  pulls  out  a  latch-key,  and  lets 
himself  in.  That's  where  he  lives.  No.  49  Bedford  Row,  on 
the  west  side,  very  near  the  bottom.  lie  lives  in  Bedford  Row. 
Well,  sir,  I  like  to  do  things  proper,  and  so,  to  make  the  job 
complete,  I  went  to  the  Salutation,  llolborn,  where  they  keep  a 
directory,  and  I  looked  out  his  name.  The  gentleman  that  lives 
at  No.  49  Bedford  Row  is  named  Edward  Dering — and  among 
the  names  of  No.  12  New  S(iuare,  Lincoln's  Inn,  is  the  name  of 
Dering  S:  Son.  So,  sir,  I  don't  think  it  is  too  much  to  say  that 
your  man  is  Mr.  Dering,  who  belongs  both  to  Bedford  Row  and 
Lincoln's  Inn.  He's  the  man  who  sent  me  to  the  bank  eight 
years  ago." 

Athelstan  stared  at  him.  "  7/r  the  man?"  he  cried.  "You 
are  talking  impossibilities.     He  can't  be  the  man." 

"Nobody  else,  sir.  If  that  was  Mr.  Dering  that  I  saw  yester- 
day walking  home  from  New  Square  to  Bedford  Row — he's  the 
man  who  sent  me  for  the  money." 

To  this  statement  the  man  stuck  firm.  Nor  could  he  be  moved 
by  any  assertion  that  his  position  was  impossible.  "  For,  my 
friend,"  said  Athelstan,  "  the  man  who  sent  you  with  the  check 
was  the  man  who  robbed  Mr.  Dering." 

"Can't  help  that,  sir.  If  the  gentleman  I  saw  yesterday  walk- 
ing from  Lincoln's  Inn  to  Bedford  Row  was  Mr.  Dering — then 
he  robbed  liissclf." 

"That's  foolishness.  Oh!  there  must  be  some  explanation. 
Look  here!  Mr.  P^dwaid  Dering  leaves  his  office  every  evening 
between  six  and  seven.  I  will  be  in  New  Square  on  the  west  side 
this  evening  at  six.  Yon  be  there,  as  well.  Try  not  to  seem  as 
if  you  were  watching  for  anybody.     Stand  about  at  your  ease." 

"  I'll  make  it  sentry-go,  sir,"  said  the  old  soldier.  "  I'll  walk 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  door  same  as  some  of  our  chaps  got 
to  do  in  front  of  shops.  You  trust  me,  sir,  and  I  won't  take 
no  notice  of  you." 

This  little  plot,  in  fact,  was  faithfully  carried  out.  At  six  o'clock 
Athelstan  began  to  walk  up  and  down  outside  the  gate  which 
opens  upon  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields — the  commissionnaire  at  the  same 
time  was  doing  sentry-go  in  front  of  No.  12,  in  New  Square. 


TEIE    IVORY    GATE  283 

When  the  clock  struck  six  there  uas  a  rush  and  a  tramp  of  hurry- 
ing feet;  these  were  the  clerks  set  free  for  the  day.  There  are 
not  many  solicitors'  offices  in  New  Square,  and  these  once  gone 
the  place  becomes  perfectly  quiet.  At  half-past  six  there  was  the 
footfall  as  of  one  man  on  the  stairs,  and  he  descended  slowly. 
lie  came  out  of  the  door  presently,  an  old  bent  figure  with  white 
liair  and  slirivelled  face.  Paying  no  heed  to  the  sentry,  he  walked 
away  with  feeble  step  in  the  direction  of  Chancery  Lane.  Check- 
ley  this  was,  on  his  way  to  look  after  his  tenants  and  his  property. 
Athelstan  looked  after  him,  through  the  gate.  Then  lie  called 
his  old  soldier.  "  See  that  man  ?"  he  asked.  "  That's  the  man 
who  sent  you  to  the  bank." 

"  No,  he  isn't."  The  man  was  stout  on  that  point.  "  Xot  a 
bit  like  him.  That  old  man's  a  servant,  not  a  gentleman.  See 
the  way  he  holds  his  hands.  Never  a  gentleman  yet  carried  his 
hands  that  way.  You  can  always  tell  'em  by  their  hands.  The 
other  day  I  met  an  old  pal — seemed  to  forget  me,  he  did.  Want- 
ed to  make  out  that  he'd  never  been  in  the  army  at  all.  So  I  lay 
by  for  a  bit.  Then  I  gets  up — and  he  gets  up  too.  "Tention  !' 
says  I,  and  he  stood  to  'tention  like  a  good  old  Tommy  Atkins. 
You  watch  their  hands,  whatever  they  say.  Always  tell  'em  by 
their  hands.  That  old  man  he's  a  servant.  lie  i.<n't  a  gentle- 
man. He  can't  sit  among  the  swells  and  order  about  the  waiters. 
He  hasn't  learned  that  way.  He'd  get  up  himself,  if  you  asked 
him,  and  put  the  napkin  under  his  arm,  and  bring  you  a  glass  of 
sherry  wine.     He's  not  my  man.     You  wait  a  bit." 

At  a  quarter  to  seven  another  footstep  was  heard  cclioincr  up 
and  down  the  empty  building.  Then  an  old  man — erect,  thin, 
tightly  buttoned,  wearing  neat  gloves  and  carrying  an  umbrella — 
came  out  of  the  door.  His  face  was  hard,  even  austere.  His  walk 
was  firm.  The  sentry,  as  this  person  walked  out  of  the  gate,  fol- 
lowed at  a  distance.  When  he  was  beside  Athelstan,  he  whis- 
pered, "That's  the  man,  I'd  swear  to  him  anywhere.  That's 
the  man  that  sent  me  to  the  bank." 

Athelstan  heard  in  unbounded  astonishment.  That  the  man  ? 
Why,  it  was  Mr.  Bering  himself  ! 

"Let  us  follow  him,"  he  whispered.  "Not  together.  On  op- 
posite sides  of  the  road.  Good  heavens  !  this  is  most  wonderful. 
Do  not  lose  sight  of  him." 

To  follow  him  was  perfectly  easy,  because  Mr.  Dcrin^if  turned 


284  THE    IVORY    GATE 

neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left',  but  inarched  straight  on 
through  Great  Turnstile,  across  llolborn,  through  Featherstone 
Buildings,  and  into  Bedford  Row,  At  No.  49,  his  own  house. 
^Vilere  else  should  lie  stop  ? 

Athclstan  took  out  his  purse  and  gave  the  man  the  iive  pounds. 
"  I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  understand  a 
word.  But  I  suppose  you  have  told  me  the  truth.  1  don't  know 
why  you  should  make  up  a  lie — " 

"  It's  Gauspel  truth,"  said  the  man. 

"And  therefore,  again,  I  don't  understand  it.  "Well — I've  got 
your  name  and  your  number.  If  I  want  you  again  I  will  send 
for  you." 

The  man  saluted  and  walked  away.  Half  a  sovereign  for  an 
cightccnpenny  job,  and  eight  years  afterwards  five  pounds  on  ac- 
count of  the  same  job.  Robbery,  was  it?  Robber}' — and  the  old 
man  ])retending  tu  be  rubbed  and  robbing  himself.  Now  what 
did  that  mean  ?  Laying  it  on  to  some  poor,  harmless,  innocent 
cove,  the  soldier  guessed  ;  laying  it  on  to  some  one  as  he  had  a 
spite  against — the  old  villain! — very  likely  this  young  governor — 
most  likely.  Donations  on  account  of  that  same  job,  very  likely 
— the  old  villain  ! 

As  for  Athelstan,  he  returned  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  where, 
the  evening  being  fine  and  the  sun  warm  and  the  place  quiet  ex- 
cept for  the  children  at  play,  he  walked  up  and  down  the  east  or 
sunny  side  for  half  an  hour,  turning  the  thing  over  in  his  mind: 

For,  you  sec,  if  Mr.  Dering  went  through  the  form  of  robbing 
himself  and  finding  out  the  robbery  and  coldly  suffering  the  blame 
to  fall  upon  him — then  Mr.  Dering  must  be  one  of  the  most  ])Iie- 
nomenally  wicked  of  living  men.  Or,  if  Mr.  Dering  robbed  him- 
self and  did  not  know  it — then  Mr.  Dering  must  be  mad. 

Again,  if  such  a  thing  could  be  done  on  a  small  scale,  it  might 
be  done  on  a  larger  scale  with  the  same  result — namely,  suspicion 
to  fall  upon  a  blameless  person  ;  obloquy  to  gather  round  his  name 
— for  in  some  cases  simply  to  be  charged  is  almost  as  fatal  as  to 
be  convicted ;  and  perfect  impunity  for  himself.  "  This  is  not  my 
own  writing,  but  a  forgery,"  said  the  man  who  had  been  robbed. 
Then,  who  is  the  forger?  You — you.  None  but  you.  The  bare 
suspicion  becomes  a  certainty  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were 
once  that  man's  friends.  And  his  life  is  cankered  at  the  outset. 
He  thought  of  his  own  life — the  bitterness  of  alienation  and  exile. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  285 

Never  any  time  for  ciglit  years  when  he  could  explain  the  reasons 
of  his  exile.  Debt,  the  cultivation  of  wild  oats,  failure  to  pass 
examinations — anything  would  do  for  such  a  reason  except  sus- 
picion of  forgery.  Athelstan  was  a  cheerful  young  man.  He  sel- 
dom allowed  himself  to  be  cast  down  by  the  blows  of  fate.  Nev- 
ertheless, during  his  whole  time  of  exile,  the  drop  of  bitterness 
that  poisoned  his  cup  was  that  he  could  not  tell  the  whole  story 
because  the  world  would  believe  no  more  than  half — that  half, 
namely,  which  contained  the  accusation.  When  one  walks  about 
thinking,  there  conies  a  time  when  it  seems  no  good  to  think 
any  longer.  The  mind  can  only  get  a  certain  amount  out  of  a 
case  at  one  sitting.  That  amount  absorbed,  the  best  thing  is  to 
go  on  to  something  else.  Athelstan  went  on  to  dinner.  He  left 
his  sister  to  the  care  of  her  young  man,  and  dined  by  himself. 
He  took  a  steak  at  a  Holborn  restaurant,  with  an  evening  paper, 
which  he  considered  professionally.  After  dinner  he  returned  to 
his  subject.  Perhaps  he  should  get  a  step  further.  No — perhaps 
on  account  of  the  sweet  influence  of  dinner  he  got  no  further  at 
all.  Here  was  an  astonishing  fact.  How  to  account  for  it?  You 
have  seen.  By  one  of  two  ways — malignity  unspeakable  or  mad- 
ness— madness  of  a  very  curious  kind — the  madness  of  a  man 
whose  calm,  cool  judgment  had  made  him  appear  to  his  friends 
as  one  with  an  intellect  far  above  any  ordinary  weaknesses  of  hu- 
manity. Mr.  Dering  mad  ?  Then  the  chancellor  of  the  exchequer, 
the  speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  the  president  of  the  Hoval 
Society,  the  president  of  the  Institute  of  Civil  Engineers,  the  Cam- 
bridge professors  of  mathematics — all  these  men  might  be  mad 
as  well.  And  nobody  to  know  it  or  to  suspect  it.  Mr.  Derin^ 
mad? — and  yet,  if  not,  what  was  he? 

There  was  one  way.  He  had  tried  it  already  once.  He  left 
the  restaurant,  and  turned  eastward.  He  was  going  to  try  South 
Square,  Gray's  Inn,  again.  Perhaps  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  would  be 
in  his  rooms. 

He  was  not.  The  door  was  shut.  Cut  the  opposite  door  stood 
open,  that  of  Freddy  Carstonc.  Athelstan  knocked,  and  was  ad- 
mitted with  eloquence  almost  tumultuous. 

"  Just  in  time,"  said  the  coach.  "  I've  got  a  new  brand  of 
whiskey,  straight  from  Glasgow.  You  shall  sample  it.  Have  you 
had  dinner  yet?  So  have  I.  Sit  down.  Let  us  talk,  and  smoke 
tobacco,  and  drink  whiskey-and-soda.'' 


286  TIIK    IVORY    GATE 

"I  will  do  the  talkin;:;  ami  tlic  tobacco,  at  any  rate." 

"  I  love  Virtue,"  said  Freddy.  "  She  is  a  lovely  goddess — for 
if  Virtue  feeble  were,  Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her.  She  has 
only  one  fault.  There  is  reproach  in  iier  voice,  reproach  in  her 
eye,  and  rcjiroach  in  her  attitude.  She  is  an  uncomfortable  god- 
dess. Fortunately,  she  dwells  not  in  this  venerable  foundation. 
Do  not  imitate  ^'irtuc,  old  boy.  Let  me —  That's  right.  We 
shall  then  start  fair  upon  the  primrose  path — the  broad  and  flow- 
cry  wav — tliDUgh  I  may  get  farther  down  than  you.  Athelstan 
the  Wanderer — Melmoth  the  Wandurer — C'hiide  Harold  the  Til- 
grim —  drink,  and  be  human."  Ho  set  the  example.  "Good 
whiskey — very  good  whiskey.  Athelstan,  there's  a  poor  devil 
upstairs,  starving  for  the  most  part — let's  have  him  down.  It's 
a  charity."  He  ran  upstairs,  and  immediately  returned  with  the 
decayed  advocate,  wlio  looked  less  hungry  than  usual,  and  a  shade 
less  sliabby — you  have  seen  how  he  borrowed  of  Mr.  Edniund 
Gray  through  Elsie. 

"  Now,"  said  the  host,  "  I  call  this  comfortable — a  warm  Au- 
gust evening;  the  window  open  ;  a  suspicion  of  fresh  air  from  the 
gardens;  soda-and-wliiskcy  ;  and  two  men  for  talk.  Most  even- 
ings one  has  to  sit  alone.  Then  there's  a  temptation  to — to  close 
the  evening  too  quickly." 

"  Freddy,  I  want  to  hear  more  about  your  neighbor.  You  told 
me  something,  if  you  remember,  a  week  or  two  ago." 

"  Very  odd  thing.  Old  Checkley  at  the  Salutation  is  always 
pestering  about  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  What  has  he  to  do  with  Mr. 
Edmund  Gray?     Wanted  me  to  answer  his  questions." 

"  And  me,"  said  Mr.  Langhornc — "  I  did  answer  them." 

"Well — Mr.  Edmund  Gray  is —  What  is  he?  An  old  gen- 
tleman, of  cheerful  aspect,  who  is  apparently  a  Socialist.  We 
must  all  be  allowed  our  little  weaknesses.  All  I  ask  for  is — " 
He  reached  his  hand  for  the  whiskey.  "  This  old  gentleman  car- 
ries his  hobbies  so  far  as  to  believe  in  them  seriously.  I've  talked 
to  him  about  them." 

"  I  have  heard  him  lecture  at  Camden  Town,"  said  the  barris- 
ter. "  I  go  there  sometimes  on  Sunday  evening.  They  have  a 
tea-feast,  with  ham  and  cake  and  toast.  It  is  a  pleasant  gathering. 
It  reminds  one  of  the  early  Church." 

"  Well,  Athelstan,  what  else  can  I  tell  you  ?  Hark  !"  There 
was  a  step  heard  ascending  the  stairs.     "  I  believe  that  is  the  old 


THE    IVORY    GATE  2S7 

mail  himself.  If  it  is,  you  shall  see  liim.  I  will  biiri;^  him 
in." 

He  went  out  to  meet  the  unknown  footstep  on  the  landing. 
Tie  greeted  the  owner  of  that  footstep;  he  stopped  him  ;  he  per- 
suaded him  to  step  into  the  opposite  room.  "  You  must  be 
lonely,  Mr.  Gray,  sitting  by  yourself.  Come  in,  and  have  an 
hour's  talk.  Come  in.  This  way.  The  room  is  rather  dark. 
Here  is  Mr.  Langhorne,  your  overhead  neighbor,  whom  you  know; 
and  here  is  Mr.  Alhelstau  Arundel,  whom  you  don't  know.  Those 
who  do  know  him  like  him,  except  for  his  virtue,  which  is  osten- 
tatious in  one  so  young." 

It  was  now  nearly  nine  o'clock.  The  lamp  was  not  lit,  and  the 
room  lay  in  twilight.  It  is  the  favorite  shade  for  ghosts.  A 
ghost  stood  before  Athclstan,  and  shook  hands  with  him — the 
ghost  of  Mr.  Dering. 

"I  am  happy,"  the  ghost  held  oat  his  banc],  "to  make  your 
acquaintance,  Mr.  Arundel.  An  old  man,  like  myself,  makes  ac- 
quaintances, but  not  friends.  His  time  for  new  friendsiiips  is 
gone.     Still,  the  world  may  be  full  of  pleasant  acquaintances." 

He  sat  down,  taking  a  chair  in  the  window;  the  shade  of  the 
curtain  fell  upon  his  face,  so  that  nothing  could  be  seen  but  a 
white  circle. 

"  Let  us  have  candles,  Freddy,"  said  Athelstan. 

"  By  all  means."  Freddy  lit  a  lamp  on  the  table  and  two  can- 
dles on  the  mantelshelf.  By  their  light  the  lineaments  and  figure 
of  the  ghost  came  out  more  distinctly.  Athclstan  gazed-  on  it 
with  bewilderment;  his  head  went  round  ;  he  closed  his  eyes;  he 
tried  to  pull  himself  together. 

He  sat  up;  he  drank  half  a  glass  of  whiskey-and-soda ;  he 
stared  steadily  at  the  fiijurc  he  had  not  seen  for  eight  years, 
since —  Good  licavens  I  and  this  man  had  done  it  himself! 
And  he  was  as  mad  as  a  hatter. 

Mr.  Edmund  Gray  looked  serenely  cheerful.  He  lay  back  in 
the  long  chair,  his  feet  extended  and  crossed;  his  elbows  on  the 
arms  of  the  chair,  his  finger-tips  touching;  his  face  was  wreathed 
with  smiles;  he  looked  as  if  he  had  always  found  the  world  the 
best  of  all  possible  worlds. 

Athelstan  heard  nothing  of  what  was  said.  His  old  friend 
Freddy  Carstone  was  talking  in  his  light  and  airy  way,  as  if  noth- 
ing at  all   mattered.     He   was    nut   expected   to   say   anything. 


288  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Freddy  liked  to  do  all  the  talkin;;  for  liinisclf — tliercfore  he  sat 
watcbing  a  man  uiulor  an  illusion  so  extraordinary  that  it  made 
him  another  man.  Nothini>;  was  changed  in  him — neither  feat- 
ures nor  voice  nor  dress — yet  lie  was  another  man.  "  Why," 
asked  Athelstan — "why  did  he  write  that  check  for  seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty  pounds  f 

Presently  Freddy  stopped  talkint;,  and  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  took 
up  the  conversation.  AVhat  he  said — the  doctrines  wliich  he  ad- 
vanced— we  know  already.  "  And  these  things,"  said  Athelstan 
to  himself,  "from  those  lips!     Is  it  possible?" 

At  ten  o'clock  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  rose.  lie  had  to  write  a  let- 
ter ;  he  prayed  to  be  excused.  He  offered  his  hand  again  to 
Athelstan.  "Good-night,  sir,"  ho  said.  "To  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  yon  again." 

"  Have  we  never  met  before,  Mr.  Gray?"  Athelstan  asked. 

"  I  think  not.  I  should  remember  you,  Mr.  Arundel,  I  am 
sure,"  Mr.  Gray  replied  politely.  "  l^Jesides,  I  never  forget  a 
face.     And  yours  is  new  to  me.     Good-night,  sir." 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

CHECKLEY    SEES    A    GHOST 


To  Checkley,  watching  every  evening,  though  not  always  at 
the  same  time,  sooner  or  later  the  same  discovery  was  certain  to 
come.  It  happened,  in  fact,  on  Friday  evening,  the  day  after 
Athelstan  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  On  that  night 
he  left  the  office  between  six  and  s'^ven,  walked  to  his  lodgings 
in  Clerkenwell,  made  himself  a  cup  of  tea,  and  hurried  back  to 
Gray's  Inn.  Here  he  planted  himself,  as  usual,  close  to  the  pas- 
sage in  the  northeast  corner  of  South  Square,  so  that  he  could  slip 
in  on  occasion  and  be  effaced.  Like  many  of  the  detective  tribe, 
or  like  the  ostrich,  fount  of  many  fables,  he  imagined  himself,  by 
reason  of  this  retreat,  entirely  hidden  from  the  observation  of  all. 
Of  course,  the  exact  contrary  was  the  result.  The  policeman  re- 
garded him  with  the  liveliest  curiosity  ;  the  laundresses  watched 
him  daily  ;  the  newspaper  vendor  came  every  evening  from  the 


THE    IVORY    GATE  289 

gateway  to  sec  what  this  ancient  spy  was  doing,  and  wliy  he 
lurked  stealthily  in  the  passage  and  looked  out  furtively.  He 
was  one  of  the  little  incidents  or  episodes  which  vary  the  daily 
routine  of  life  in  the  inn.  Many  of  these  occur  every  year;  the 
people  who  come  to  their  offices  at  ten  and  go  away  at  live  know 
nothing  about  them ;  the  residents  who  leave  at  ten  and  return  at 
six  or  seven  or  twelve  know  nothing  about  them.  But  the  ser- 
vice know,  and  they  talk  and  conjecture.  Here  was  an  elderly 
man — nay,  an  old,  old  man,  apparently  eighty  years  of  age. 
AVhat  did  he  want,  coming  night  after  night  to  hide  himself  in 
a  passage  and  peer  out  into  the  square?  What,  indeed?  The 
policeman,  who  had  done  duty  in  Hyde  Park,  could  tell  instruct- 
ive stories  from  his  own  experience  about  frisky  age ;  the  laun- 
dresses remembered  gentlemen  for  whom  they  had  "  done,"  and 
pranks  with  which  those  gentlemen  amused  themselves;  but  no 
one  knew  a  case  parallel  to  this.  Why  should  an  old  man  stand 
in  the  corner,  and  secretly  look  out  into  the  square  ?  He  gener- 
ally arrived  at  half-past  seven,  and  he  left  his  post  at  nine,  when 
it  was  too  dark  to  see  across  the  square.  Then  he  went  to  the 
Salutation,  and  enjoyed  society,  conversation,  and  a  cheerful  glass, 
as  you  have  seen. 

The  time  he  chose  was  unfortunate,  because  Mr.  Edmund  Gray, 
when  he  called  at  his  chambers,  generally  did  so  at  half-past  six 
or  seven,  on  his  way  to  the  Hall  of  Science,  Kentish  Town. 
Therefore,  Checkley  might  have  gone  on  watching  for  a  long 
time — say  an  icon — watching  and  waiting  in  vain.  But  an  acci- 
dent happened  which  rewarded  him  richly  for  all  his  trouble.  It 
was  on  Friday.  Elsie,  provided  by  this  time  with  a  latch-key  to 
the  chambers,  arrived  at  Gray's  Inn  at  six.  She  was  going  to 
spend  the  evening  with  the  master.  She  walked  in,  ascended  the 
staircase — Mr.  Gray  had  not  yet  arrived — opened  the  door,  shut 
it  behind  her,  and  entered  the  room. 

The  hand  of  woman  was  now  visible  in  the  general  improvement 
of  the  room.  The  windows  were  clean  and  bright ;  the  wainscoted 
walls  had  been  cleaned;  the  ceiling  whitewashed;  the  carpet  had 
been  swept  and  the  furniture  dusted;  there  were  flowers  on  the  table; 
there  was  an  easel,  on  which  stood  Elsie's  fancy  portrait  of  Mr,  Ber- 
ing, so  wonderfully  like  Mr.  Gray — a  speaking  likeness;  books  lay 
about  the  table — they  were  all  books  on  the  labor  question,  on  the 
social  question,  on  the  problems  of  the  day ;  all  the  books  on  all 
13 


290  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  questions  with  wliich  men  now  torture  themselves,  and  think 
tlicrcby  to  advance  the  coming  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.  There 
were  new  curtains — dainty  curtains  of  lace — hanging  before  the 
windows;  and  the  window-blinds  themselves  were  clean  and  new. 
Elsie  looked  about  her  with  a  certain  satisfaction  ;  it  was  her  own 
doing,  the  work  of  her  own  hand,  because  the  old  laundress  was 
satisfied  to  sit  down  and  look  on.  "  At  the  least,"  she  said,  "the 
poor,  dear  man  has  a  clean  room."  Then  she  remembered  that 
in  a  day  or  two  she  would  leave  him  to  his  old  solitude,  and  she 
sighed,  thinking  how  he  clung  to  her,  and  leaned  upon  her,  and 
already  looked  upon  her  as  his  successor — "a  clean  room,"  she 
said,  "when  I  have  left  him.  Perhaps  he  will  leave  the  room, 
too,  and  be  all  day  long  what  he  used  to  be.  Sane  or  mad?  I 
love  him  best  when  he  is  mad." 

The  tabic  was  covered  with  manuscripts.  These  were  part  of 
the  great  work  which  he  was  about  to  give  to  the  world. 

Elsie  had  never  seen  the  room  behind  this.  A  guilty  curiosity 
seized  her.  She  felt  like  the  youngest  of  Bluebeard's  wives.  She 
felt  the  impulse ;  she  resisted ;  she  gave  way ;  she  opened  the 
door,  and  looked  in. 

She  found  a  room  nearly  as  large  as  the  sitting-room.  The 
windows  were  black  with  dust  and  soot.  She  opened  one,  and 
looked  out  upon  a  small  green  area  outside,  littered  with  paper 
and  bottles  and  all  kinds  of  jetsam.  The  floor  of  the  room  was 
deep  with  dust;  the  chairs  and  the  dressing-table  were  covered 
with  it.  The  bed  was  laid,  but  the  blankets  were  devoured  by 
moths;  there  was  not  a  square  inch  left  whole.  It  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  brought  in  new,  and  covered  with  sheets  and  blankets, 
and  so  left,  the  room  unopened,  the  bed  imtouchcd,  for  the  ten 
years  of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray's  tenancy. 

Between  the  bedroom  and  the  sitting-room  was  a  small  dark 
room,  containing  a  bath,  a  table  for  washing  up,  knives  and  forks 
in  a  basket,  teacups  and  saucers. 

"The  pantry,"  said  Elsie,  "and  the  scullery,  and  the  house- 
maid's closet,  all  together.  Oh  !  beautiful !  And  to  think  that 
men  live  in  such  dens — and  sleep  there  contentedly  night  after 
night  in  this  lonely,  ghostly  old  place.  Horrible!"  A  rattling 
behind  the  wainscoting  warned  her  that  ghosts  can  show  them- 
selves even  in  the  daytime.  She  shuddered,  and  retreated  to  the 
sitting-room.     Here  she  took  a  book,  and  sat  by  the  open  win- 


THE    IVORY    GATE  291 

dow,  heedless  of  the  fact  tliat  she  could  be  scon  by  any  one  from 
the  square. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  before  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  arrived.  "  Ah  ! 
child,"  he  cried  tenderly,  "  you  are  liere  before  me.  I  was  de- 
layed— some  business.  What  was  it?  Pshaw!  I  forget  every- 
thing. Never  mind — I  am  here ;  and  before  we  take  a  cab  I 
want  you  once  more  to  go  through  with  me  the  points  of  my 
new  catechism.     Now,  if  you  arc  ready." 

"  Quite  ready,  master." 

At  half-past  seven  Checkley  arrived  at  his  corner  and  took  a 
preliminary  survey  of  the  square.  "There  he  is,"  said  the  police- 
man. "There  he  is  again,"  said  two  laundresses,  conversing  on 
a  door-step.  "There  he  is  as  usual,"  said  the  newspaper  boy. 
"Now,"  asked  all  in  chorus,  "what's  he  want  there?" 

Mr.  Checkley  looked  out  from  his  corner,  saw  no  one  in  the 
square,  and  retreated  into  his  passage.  Then  he  looked  out 
again,  and  retreated  again.  If  any  one  passed  through  the  pas- 
sage, Checkley  was  always  walking  off  with  great  resolution  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

Presently,  in  one  of  his  stealthy  peerings,  he  happened  to  look 
np.  Then  he  started  ;  he  shaded  his  eyes ;  he  looked  his  hardest. 
Yes ;  at  the  open  window,  freely  displayed,  without  the  least 
attempt  at  concealment,  he  saw  the  head  and  face  of  Miss  Elsie 
Arundel.  There !  There !  What  more  was  necessary  ?  Ed- 
mund Gray  was  Athelstan  Arundel,  or  George  Austin,  or  both — 
and  Elsie  Arundel  was  an  accomplice  after  the  act.  There ! 
There !  lie  retreated  to  the  seclusion  of  the  passage,  and  rubbed 
liis  liands.  This  would  please  Sir  Samuel.  He  should  hear  it 
that  very  night.  This  ought  to  please  him  very  much,  because  it 
made  things  so  clear  at  last.  There  she  was — upstairs;  in  the 
chambers  of  Mr.  Edmund  Gray;  in  the  very  room!  There! 
There !     There ! 

Perhaps  he  was  mistaken.  But  his  sight  was  very  good — for 
distant  things.  In  reading  a  newspaper  he  might  make  mistakes, 
because  he  was  one  of  those  elderly  persons  who  enjoy  their 
newspaper  most  when  they  can  nail  it  upon  the  wall,  and  sit 
down  to  read  it  from  the  other  side  of  a  large  room.  He  looked 
up  again.  The  setting  sun  shining  on  the  window  of  the  side 
where  be  stood — the  eastern  side  was  reflected  upon  the  windows 


292  THE    IVORY    GATE 

of  No.  22 — Elsie's  sliapcly  head — slic  had  taken  off  her  hat — 
was  bathed  in  tlic  reflected  sunshine.  No  doubt  about  her  at  all. 
There  she  was.  There !  There !  There !  The  old  man  was 
fain  to  take  a  walk  up  Verulam  Buildings  and  back  again  to  dis- 
guise his  delight  at  this  discovery,  lie  walked  chuckling  and 
cracking  his  fingers,  so  that  those  who  saw  him — but  there 
arc  not  many  in  Ilaymond's  Buildings  on  an  August  evening — 
thought  that  he  must  be  cither  a  little  mad  or  a  little  drunk  or  a 
little  foolish.  But  nobody  much  regards  the  actions  of  an  an- 
cient man.  It  is  only  the  respect  of  his  grandchildren  or  the 
thought  of  iiis  possessions  that  gives  him  importance.  Only  the 
strong  .ire  regarded,  and  an  old  man  who  looks  poor  gets  no 
credit  even  for  foolishness  and  silly  chuckles.  Then  Checkley 
went  back  to  his  corner.  Oh!  what  was  that?  lie  rubbed  his 
eyes  again;  he  turned  pale;  he  staggered;  he  caught  at  the 
door-posts.  What  was  that?  lie  shaded  his  eyes,  and  looked 
again — bent  and  trembling  and  shaking  all  over.  Said  the  police- 
man, "  Looks  as  if  he's  going  to  get  'em  again."  Said  the  laun- 
dresses, "  lie  looks  Jis  if  he'd  seen  a  ghost."  The  newspaper  boy 
stepped  half-way  across  the  square.  "He's  looking  at  Mr.  Ed- 
mund Gray  and  the  young  lady.  Jealous — p'r'aps — knows  the 
young  lady — wouldn't  have  believed  it,  prob'ly." 

Yes,  Checkley  was  looking  at  that  window,  No  doubt  of 
that  at  all.  He  was  not  able  to  disguise  his  astonishment;  he 
Tio  longer  pretended  to  hide  himself.  For  he  saw,  sitting  in  the 
window,  the  young  lady  whom  he  believed  to  be  an  accomplice 
in  the  crime;  and  standing  over  her,  with  an  expression  of  fa- 
therlv  affection,  was  none  other  than  Mr.  Dering  himself. 

Yes,  Mr.  Dering.  Most  wonderful !  What  did  it  mean  ?  Had 
Mr.  Dering  resolved  to  clear  up  the  mystery  of  Edmund  Gray  ? 
Had  he  penetrated  the  chambers,  and  found  there — not  Edmund 
Grav,  but  Elsie  Arundel  ? 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  policeman,  standing  before  him  so  that 
the  view  of  the  window  was  intercepted,  "  you  seem  interested 
over  the  way." 

"  I  am.     I  am.     Oh  !  yes.     Much  interested," 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  you've  looked  at  that  old  gentleman 
long  enough?  Perhaps  he  wouldn't  like  so  much  looking  at. 
There's  a  young  lady,  too.  It  isn't  manners  to  be  staring  at  a 
young  lady  like  a  stuck  pig." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  293 

"No,  no,  policeman — I've  seen  onouf^h,  thank  you." 

"And,  still  talkin'  in  a  friendly  way,  do  you  think  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray  over  there  would  like  it  if  he  knew  tlierc  was  a  detective  or 
a  spy  watching  every  evening  on  the  other  side  of  the  square? 
What's  the  little  game,  guv'nor?  Anything  in  our  line?  Not 
with  that  most  respectable  old  gentleman,  I  do  hope — though 
sometimes —  Well,  what  is  it?  Because  we  can't  have  you 
goin'  on  as  you  have  been  goin'  on,  you  know." 

"Policeman" — Checkley  pulled  him  aside  and  pointed  to  the 
little  group  at  the  window — "  you  sec  that  old  gentleman  tlicre 
— do  you  know  him  ?" 

"Certainly.  Known  liim  ever  since  I  came  to  the  inn — two 
years  ago.  The  people  of  the  inn  have  known  him  for  ten  years, 
I  believe.  That's  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  He's  not  one  of  the  regu- 
lar residents,  and  he  hasn't  got  an  office.  Comes  here  now  and 
then  when  he  fancies  the  place — Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  tliat  is.  I 
wish  all  the  gentlemen  in  the  inn  were  half  as  liberal  as  he  is." 

"Oh  !  it's  impossible!  Say  it  again,  policeman.  Perhaps  Fm 
a  little  deaf — Vm  very  old,  you  know — a  little  deaf,  perhaps. 
Say  it  again." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  man  ?"  For  he  was  shaking  vio- 
lently, and  his  eyes  stared.    "  Of  course  that  is  Mr.  Edmund  Gray." 

"  What  does  the  girl  do  with  hiiu?  Why  are  they  both  there 
together  ?" 

"How  should  I  know  why  she  calls  upon  him?  She's  a  young 
lady,  and  a  sweet  young  thing,  too.    He's  her  grandfather,  likely." 

Checkley  groaned. 

"I  must  go  somewhere  and  think  this  out,"  he  said.  "Excuse 
me,  policeman.  I  am  an  old  man,  and — and — Fve  had  a  bit  of 
a  shock,  and —  Good-evening,  policeman."  He  shaded  his  eyes 
again  and  looked  up.  Yes,  there  they  were,  talking.  Then  Elsie 
rose,  and  he  saw  her  putting  on  her  hat.  Then  she  retreated  up 
the  room.     But  still  he  stood  watching. 

"Not  had  enough  yet,  guv'nor?"  asked  the  policeman. 

"  Only  a  minute.  I  want  to  see  her  go  out.  Yes,  there  they  are 
— going  out  together.     It  is,  after  all —    Oh  !  there  is  no  mistake." 

"There  is  no  mistake,  guv'nor,"  said  the  policeman.  "There 
goes  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  and  there  goes  that  sweet  young  thing 
along  of  him.  Ah  !  there's  many  advantages  about  being  a 
gentleman.     No  mistake,  I  say,  about  them  two.    Now,  old  man, 


294  THE    IVORY    GATE 

yon  look  as  if  you'd  had  a  surprise.  Hadn't  you  better  go  liomc 
and  take  a  drop  of  soniotliing." 

It  was  earlier  than  Chcckley  generally  went  to  the  Salutation. 
Bnt  lie  delayed  no  longer,  lie  tottered  across  the  square,  show- 
ing very  much  of  extreme  feebleness,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left,  his  cheek  white,  his  eyes  rolling.  The  people 
looked  after  him,  expecting  that  he  would  fall.  But  he  did  not. 
He  turned  into  the  tavern,  hobbled  along  the  passage,  and  sank 
into  an  arm-chair  in  the  parlor. 

"Good  gracious!  Mr,  Chcckley,"  cric<l  the  barmaid  as  he  passed, 
"  whatever  is  the  matter?" 

Some  of  the  usual  company  were  already  assembled,  although 
it  was  as  yet  hardly  eight.  The  money-lender  was  there,  sitting 
in  his  corner,  taking  his  tobacco  and  his  grog  in  silence.  The 
decayed  barrister  was  there,  his  glass  of  old  and  mild  before  him, 
reading  the  morning  newspa[)cr.  The  ex-M.l*.  was  there.  When 
Chcckley  tumbled  into  .the  room,  they  looked  np  in  surprise. 
When  lie  gazed  about  liim  wildly  and  gasped,  they  were  aston- 
ished, for  lie  seemed  like  unto  one  about  to  have  a  fit. 

"Give  me  something,  Robert — give  me  something,"  he  cried. 
"Qnick — something  strong.     I'll  have  it  short.     Quick — quick!" 

Robert  brought  him  a  small  glass  of  brandy,  which  he  swal- 
lowed hastily. 

"  Oh  !"  he  groaned,  sitting  up,  "  I've  seen — I've  seen — " 

"  You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost,"  said  the  barmaid,  who  had 
come  along  with  a  glass  of  water,    "  Shall  I  bathe  your  forehead  ?" 

"No,  no.  I  am  better  now — I  am  all  right  again.  Gentle- 
men"— he  looked  round  the  room  solemnly — "  Tve  seen  this 
evening  a  good  man — an  old  man — a  great  man — a  rich  man, 
gentlemen,  wrecked  and  cast  away  and  destroyed  and  ruined 
with  a  little  devil  of  a  woman  to  langh  at  him  !" 

"They  don't  generally  laugh  at  the  men  when  they  are  ruined," 
said  Mr.  Langhorne.  "They  laugh  while  they  are  ruining  tlicm. 
It's  fun  to  them.  So  it  is  to  the  men.  Great  fun  it  is  while  it 
lasts.  I  dare  say  the  little  woman  won't  really  laugh  at  him.  In 
my  case — " 

His  case  was  left  untold,  because  he  stopped  and  buried  his 
head  in  his  newspaper. 

Then  Shylock  spoke.  He  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips  and 
spoke,  moved,  after  his  kind,  by  the  mention  of  the  words  wreck 


THE    IVORY    GATE  295 

and  ruin,  just  as  the  vulture  pricks  up  its  feathers  at  the  word 
death : 

"To  see  a  rich  man  wrecked  and  ruined,  Mr.  Chcckley,  is  a 
tiling  whicli  a  man  may  see  every  day.  The  thing  is,  not  to 
lose  by  their  wreck — to  make  money  out  of  it.  Rich  men  are 
always  being  wrecked  and  ruined.  What  else  can  you  expect  if 
men  refuse  to  pay  their  interest  and  to  meet  their  bills?  The 
melancholy  thing — ah  I  the  real  sadness — is  the  ruin  of  a  man 
who  has  trusted  his  fellow-creatures  and  got  taken  in  for  his 
pains.  Only  this  morning  I  find  that  I've  been  let  in  by  a  swin- 
dler— a  common  swindler,  gentlemen — who  comes  round  and 
says  he  can't  pay  up — can't  pay  up — and  I'm  welcome  to  the 
sticks.  Which  kind  of  man  might  your  friend  be,  Mr.  Checkley, 
the  man  who's  trusted  his  neighbor  and  got  left,  or  the  neighbor 
who's  ramped  the  man  that  trusted  him  ?" 

"  It  isn't  money  at  all,"  Checkley  replied. 

"Then,  sir,  if  it  isn't  money,"  said  the  money-lender,  "I  don't 
know  why  you  come  in  frightening  this  honorable  company  out 
of  their  wits.  If  it  isn't  money,  how  the  devil  can  the  gentle- 
man be  wrecked  and  ruined?" 

For  two  hours  Mr.  Checkley  sat  in  silence,  evidently  not  listen- 
ing to  what  was  said.  Then  he  turned  to  Mr.  Langhorne,  the 
barrister:  "You've  known  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  a  long  time,  I  be- 
lieve ?" 

"  Nine  years — ten  years — since  he  came  to  the  inn." 

"Always  the  same  man,  I  suppose?"  said  Checkley.  "Never 
another  man? — not  sometimes  a  young  man? — or  two  young  men? 
— one  rather  a  tall  young  man,  looks  as  if  the  world  was  all  his? 
— supercilious  beast !" 

"Never  more  than  one  man  at  once,"  replied  the  barrister, 
with  a  show  of  forensic  keenness,  "lie  might  have  been  two 
young  men  rolled  into  one,  but  not  to  my  knowledge;  always 
the  same  man  to  look  at,  so  far  as  I  know — and  the  same  man 
to  talk  with." 

'•  Oh !  yes,  yes.  There's  no  hope  left — none,  lie's  ruined 
and  lost,  and  cast  away  and  done  for." 

He  rose  and  walked  out.  The  company  looked  after  him  and 
shook  their  heads.  Tiien  they  drew  their  chairs  a  little  closer, 
and  the  gap  made  by  his  departure  vanished. 


29G  THE    IVOKY    GATE 


ClIArTEll  XXXII 

THE    PAY    AFTEU    THE    GHOST 

"When  Mr.  Dcrin<T;  arrived  at  liis  office  next  morning  he  ob- 
served that  his  table  had  not  been  arranged  for  him.  Imagine 
tlic  snrprisc  of  the  housewife,  should  she  come  down  to  break- 
fast and  lind  the  ham  and  the  toast  and  the  tea  placed  upon  the 
table  without  the  decent  cloth  !  With  such  eyes  did  Mr.  Dcring 
gaze  upon  the  pile  of  yesterday's  letters  lying  upon  his  blotting- 
pad,  the  pens  in  disorder,  the  papers  heaped  about  anyhow,  the 
dust  of  yesterday  cverywjierc.  Such  a  tiling  had  never  hap[)ened 
before  in  liis  whole  experience  of  fifty-five  years.  He  touched 
his  bell  sharply. 

"Why,"  he  asked,  hanging  up  his  coat  without  turning  round 
— "  why  is  not  my  table  ])Ut  in  order?"  lie  turned,  and  saw  his 
clerk  standing  at  the  open  door.  "  Good  heavens !  Chcckley, 
what  is  the  matter?" 

For  the  ancient  servitor  stood  with  drooping  head  an<l  melan- 
choly face  and  bent  shoulders.  His  hands  liung  down  in  the 
jittitude  of  one  who  waits  to  serve.  But  he  did  not  serve.  lie 
stood  still,  and  made  no  reply. 

He  understood  now.  Since  the  apparition  of  Soutli  Square 
lie  had  had  time  to  reflect.  He  now  understood  the  whole  busi- 
ness from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  One  hand  there  was,  and 
only  one,  concerned  with  the  ease.  Now  he  understood  the 
meaning  of  the  frequent  fits  of  abstraction,  the  long  silences,  this 
strange  forgetfulncss  which  made  his  master  mix  up  days  and 
hours,  and  caused  him  to  wonder  what  he  had  done  and  where 
he  had  been  on  tliis  and  that  evening.  And  somebody  else 
knew.  The  girl  knew.  She  had  told  her  lover.  She  had  told 
her  brother.  That  was  why  the  new  ])artncr  laughed  and  defied 
them.  It  was  on  his  charge  that  young  Arundel  had  been  forced 
to  leave  the  country.  It  was  he  who  declared  that  he  had  seen 
him  place  the  stolen  notes  in  the  safe.     It  was  he  who  had 


THE    IVORY    GATE  297 

charged  young  Austin,  and  whispered  suspicions  into  the  mind 
of  Sir  Samuel.  Now  the  truth  would  come  out,  and  they  would 
all  turn  upon  him,  and  his  master  would  have  to  be  told.  Who 
■would  tell  him  ?  How  could  they  tell  him  ?  Yet  he  m-ust  be 
told.  And  what  would  be  done  to  the  jealous  servant?  And 
how  could  the  old  lawyer,  with  such  a  knowledge  about  himself, 
continue  to  work  at  his  office?  All  was  finished.  He  would  be 
sent  about  his  business.  Ills  master  would  go  home,  and  stay 
there — with  an  attendant.  How  could  he  continue  to  live  with- 
out his  work  to  do?  What  would  he  do  all  day  ?  With  whom 
■would  he  talk?  Everything  finished  and  done  witli.  Every- 
thing— 

He  stood,  therefore,  stricken  dumb,  humble,  waiting  for  re- 
proof. 

"Are  you  ill,  Checkley  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bering.  "You  look  ill. 
What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  am  not  ill,"  he  replied,  in  a  hollow  voice,  with  a  dismal 
shake  of  the  head.  "  I  am  not  exactly  ill.  Yes,  I  am  ill.  I 
tried  to  put  your  table  in  order  for  you  this  morning,  but  I 
couldn't,  I  really  couldn't.  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  never  do  any- 
thing for  you — never  again.  After  sixty  years'  service,  it's  hard 
to  feel  like  that." 

He  moved  to  the  table,  and  began  mechanically  laying  the 
papers  straiglit. 

"  No  one  has  touched  your  table  but  me  for  sixty  years.  It's 
hard  to  think  that  another  hand  will  do  this  for  you — and  do  it 
quite  as  well  you'll  think.  Tbat's  what  we  get  for  faithful  ser- 
vice." He  put  the  papers  all  wrong,  because  his  old  eyes  were 
dimmed  with  unaccustomed  moisture.  Checkley  had  long  since 
ceased  to  weep  over  the  sorrows  of  others,  even  in  the  most 
moving  situations,  wlien,  for  instance,  he  himself  carried  oflE  tlie 
sticks  instead  of  the  rent.  But  no  man  is  so  old  that  he  cannot 
weep  over  his  own  misfortunes.  Checkley's  eye  was  therefore 
dimmed  with  the  tear  of  compassion,  which  is  the  sister  of 
charity. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  this  morning,  Checkley.  Have  you 
had  any  unpleasantness  with  Mr.  Austin — with  any  of  the  peoj)le?" 

"  No,  no.     Only  that  I  had  better  go  before  I  am  turned  out. 
That's    all.     That's    all " — he   repeated   the   words   in   despair. 
"  Nothing  but  that." 
13* 


298  THE    IVOKY    UATE 

"  Who  is  going  to  turn  you  out?  What  do  yon  mean,  Check- 
ley  ?  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  going  on  like  this?  Am 
I  not  master  here?     Who  can  turn  you  out?'' 

"  You  can,  sir,  and  you  w  ill — and  I'd  rather,  if  you'll  excuse 
the  liberty,  go  out  of  my  own  accord.  I'm  a  small  man — only 
a  very  small  man — but,  thank  God !  I've  got  enough  to  give  me 
a  crust  of  bread  and  cheese  to  live  upon." 

"  I  toll  you  what,  Chcckley — you  had  better  go  home,  and  lie 
down,  and  rest  a  little.  You  arc  upset.  Now,  at  our  age  we 
can't  afford  to  be  upset.  Go  home,  and  bo  easy.  Old  friends 
don't  part  quite  so  easily  as  you  think."  Mr.  Dering  spoke  kind- 
ly and  gently.     One  must  be  patient  with  so  old  a  servant. 

Chcckley  sobbed  and  choked.  Like  a  child  he  sobbed.  Like 
a  child  of  four  Chcckley  choked  and  sniffed.  "You  don't  un- 
derstand," he  said.  "  Oh,  no — you  can't  understand.  It's  what 
I  saw  last  night." 

"This  is  very  wonderful.     What  did  you  sec?     A  ghost?" 

"  Worse  than  a  ghost.  Who  cares  for  a  ghost?  Ghosts  can't 
turn  a  man  out  of  his  place  and  bring  him  to  be  a  laughing- 
stock.   ,No,  no.     It  was  a  man  that  I  saw,  not  a  ghost." 

"If  you  can  find  it  possible  to  talk  reasonably" — Mr.  Dering 
took  his  chair,  and  tore  open  an  envelope — "  when  you  can  find 
it  possible  to  talk  reasonably,  I  will  listen.  Meantime,  I  really 
think  that  you  had  better  go  home  and  lie  down  for  an  hour  or 
two.  Your  nerves  are  shaken  ;  you  hardly  know  what  you  are 
saying." 

"I  was  in  Gray's  Inn  yesterday  evening — by  accident — at 
eight."  lie  spoke  in  gasi)s,  watching  his  master  curiously.  "By 
accident — not  spying.  No — by  accident.  On  my  way  to  my 
club — at  the  Salutation.  Walking  through  South  Square.  Not 
thinking  of  anything.     Looking  about  me — careless-like." 

"  South  Square,  Gray's  Inn  ?  That  is  the  place  where  the  man 
Edmund  Gray  lives;  the  man  we  want  to  find  and  cannot  find." 

"Oh!  Lord!  Lord!"  exclaimed  the  clerk.  "Is  it  possible?" 
He  lifted  his  hand,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  groaned. 
Then  he  resumed  his  narrative. 

"Coming  through  the  passage,  I  looked  up  to  the  windows  of 
No.  22 — Mr.  Edmund  Gray's  chambers,  you  know." 

"  I  believe  so."  Mr.  Dering's  face  betrayed  no  emotion  at  all. 
"  Go  on — I  am  told  so. " 


THE    IVORY    GATE  299 

"  Tti  the  window  I  saw  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  himself — him- 
self." 

"Curious.     Yon  have  seen  him — but  why  not?" 

"  The  man  we've  all  been  so  anxious  to  find.  The  man  who 
endorsed  the  check,  and  wrote  the  letters,  and  got  the  papers — 
tliere  he  was !" 

"  Question  of  identity.  How  did  you  know  liim,  since  you  had 
never  seen  hiin  before?" 

This  question  Checkley  shirked. 

"lie  came  down-stairs  five  minutes  afterwards,  while  I  was  still 
looking  up  at  the  windows.  Came  down-stairs,  and  walked  out 
of  the  square — made  as  if  he  was  going  out  by  way  of  Ray- 
mond's Buildings — much  as  if  he  might  be  going  to  Bedford 
Row." 

"These  details  arc  unimportant.  Again — how  did  you  know 
him  ?" 

"  I  asked  the  policeman  who  the  gentleman  was.  He  said  it 
was  Mr.  Ivlinund  Gray.  I  asked  the  newspaper  boy  at  the  IIol- 
born  entrance,  lie  said  it  was  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  and  that  every- 
body knew  him." 

"So  everybody  knows  him.  Well,  Checkley,  I  see  nothing  so 
very  remarkable  about  your  seeing  a  man  so  well  known  in  the 
inn.  It  adds  nothing  to  our  knowledge.  That  he  exists  we 
know  already.  What  share,  if  any,  he  has  had  in  this  case  of 
ours  remains  still  a  mystery.  Unless,  that  is,  you  have  found  out 
something  else." 

Checkley  gazed  upon  his  master  with  a  kind  of  stupor.  "  No, 
no,"  he  murmured.     "I  can't." 

"  What  did  you  do,  when  yon  found  out  that  it  was  the  man  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"You  did  nothing.  Well,  under  the  circumstances,  I  don't 
know  what  you  could  have  done." 

"  And  he  walked  away." 

"  Oh !  lie  walked  away.  Very  important,  indeed.  But, 
Checkley,  this  story  does  not  in  the  least  account  for  your  strange 
agitation  this  morning.  Have  you  anything  more  to  tell  me?  I 
see  that  you  have,  but  you  seem  to  experience  more  than  usual 
difficulty  in  getting  it  out." 

The  clerk  hesitated.  "  Do  you,"  he  asked  at  last — "  do  you 
— happen — to  know  Gray's  Inn  ?" 


300  THE    IVORY    GATE 

"  I  dare  say  I  liave  been  there — years  ago.     Why  ?" 

"  Oil !  you  liaven't  been  there  hitely,  liave  you  ?" 

"  Not  hitely — not  for  forty  years,  or  some  such  inconsiderable 
period.     "Wiiy  ?" 

"I  thouglit  you  might  yourself  have  met  Mr.  Edmund  Gray — 
been  to  his  chambers,  perhaps." 

Mr.  Dering  sat  upright,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  letters. 
"  Chcokley,"  ho  said,  "  1  am  always  willing  to  make  allowance  for 
people  in  mental  distress,  but  I  think  I  have  made  allowance 
enough.     Come  to  the  point.     Have  you  lost  any  money  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  not  so  bad  as  that — but  bad  enough.  No,  I  couldn't 
afford  to  lose  money.  I  haven't  got  enough  to  spare  any.  IJut 
I  got  a  shock — kind  of  stroke — partly  because  of  the  man  1  met, 
and  partly  because  of  the  person  with  him." 

"Oh  !  who  was  that?     Are  we  arriving  at  something?" 

"  I  hadn't  told  you  that.  The  person  who  was  sitting  at  the 
open  window  with  him,  who  came  down-stairs  with  him,  and 
walked  out  of  the  square  with  him,  was  no  other  than  your  own 
ward — Miss  Elsie  Arundel  herself !" 

"Oh!  why  not?"  asked  Mr.  Dering  carelessly.  "She  told  me 
— yesterday,  was  it? — that  she  knows  him." 

"If  it  had  been  any  one  else  she  was  with,"  he  replied,  mixing 
up  his  grammar — "  if  it  liad  been  any  one  else  who  was  with  her 
— I  wouldn't  have  been  surprised.  But  to  see  the  two  together. 
That  gave  me  a  turn  that  I  can't  get  over." 

"Still — why  not?  Miss  Elsie  Arundel  has  already  told  rac 
that  she  is  acquainted  with  Mr.  Edmund  Gray." 

"What?  She  has  told  you — she  has  actually  told  you?  Oh! 
what  has  she  told  you?  Oh!  Lord!  Lord!  What  is  a  man  to 
say  or  to  do?  She  told  you —  What  is  best  to  do?"  He  wrung 
his  hands  in  his  distress  and  his  perplexity. 

"  I  cannot  understand,  Checkley,"  said  Mr.  Dering,  with  em- 
phasis, "  the  reason  for  this  display  of  excitement.  Why  should 
she  not  tell  me,  or  anybody  else?  Do  you  suppose  that  my  ward 
is  doing  anything  clandestine?  She  has  told  me  that  she  is  ac- 
quainted with  this  man.  She  asserts  further  that  we  have  made 
a  great  mistake  about  him.  What  she  means,  I  cannot  under- 
stand. She  says,  in  fact,  that  this  gentleman  is  a  perfectly  hon- 
orable person.  It  is  possible  that  he  has  deceived  her.  It  is  also 
possible  that  the  name  of  Edmund  Gray  had  been  wrongfully 


THE    IVOHY    GATE  301 

used  in  the  papers  which  belong  to  the  case.  Certainly  it  Avas  an 
Edniund  Gray  who  endorsed  the  first  check;  and  an  Edmund 
Gray  having  an  address  at  22  South  Square  whose  name  is  con- 
nected with  the  later  business.  Well,  we  shall  see  presently. 
When  do  you  take  out  the  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  this  raan? 
By  the  way,  Elsie  Arundel  implores  me  not  to  allow  that  step. 
When  are  you  going  to  do  it? 

"This  morning,  I  was  going  to  do  it.  Everything  is  ready — 
but—" 

"  But  what  r 

"  I  can't  do  it  now." 

"  The  man  is  clean  gone  off  his  head." 

"  Leave  it  till  to-morrow — only  to-morrow — or  Monday.  Be- 
fore then,  something  is  certain  to  turn  up.  Oh  !  certain  sure  it 
is.     Something  must  turn  up." 

"There  is  certainly  something  that  you  are  keeping  behind, 
Checkley.  Well — wait  till  Monday.  To-day  is  Saturday.  lie 
can't  do  very  much  mischief  between  this  and  Monday.  That's 
enough  about  Edmund  Gray.  Now,  here  is  another  point,  to 
which  I  want  a  direct  answer  from  you.  My  brother  asserts,  I 
believe  on  your  authority,  that  Athelstan  Arundel  has  been  living 
in  a  low  and  profligate  manner  in  some  London  suburb,  and  that 
he  was  in  rags  and  poverty  early  this  year.  What  is  your  author- 
ity for  this?" 

"  Why,  I  heard  him  confess — or  not  deny — that  lie'd  been  liv- 
ing in  Camberwell  in  bad  company.  It  was  at  the  Salutation  I 
heard  it.  He  didn't  see  me.  I'd  got  my  head  behind  a  paper. 
Ue  never  denied  it." 

"  Humph  !     And  about  tlie  rags  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  rags." 
"Very  likely  there  is  as  much  foundation  for  the  one  charge 
as  for  the  other.  Three  or  four  years  ago  he  was  in  America,  to 
my  knowledge,  lie  wrote  to  me  from  America.  I  now  learn, 
on  the  authority  of  his  sister,  that  he  only  came  back  a  month 
ago,  and  that  he  has  been  and  is  still  in  the  service  of  an  Amer- 
ican paper.     What  have  you  got  to  say  to  that?" 

"  Nothing.  I  don't  feci  as  if  I  could  say  anything.  It's  all 
turned  upsy-down.  That  won't  do,  I  suppose,  no  more  than  the 
rest." 

"  But,  my  friend,  if  that  is  true,  your  theory  of  conspiracy  and 


302  THE    IVORY    GATE 

confederacy,  which  you  took  so  ranch  pains  to  build  up,  falls  to 
the  ground  as  far  as  Atliclstan  is  concerned." 

"  Yes.  Oil !  I  liavcn't  nothing  to  say."  It  was  a  mark  of  the 
trouble  which  possessed  him  that  liis  language  reverted  to  that  of 
liis  young  days,  before  he  had  leaniod  the  art  of  correct  speech 
from  the  copying  of  legal  documents.  Ue  preserved  the  same  at- 
titude with  bent  head  and  hanging  hands,  a  sad  and  pitiful  object. 

"  Since  Atliclstan  was  not  in  London  during  the  months  of 
March  and  April,  he  could  have  had  no  hand  in  the  later  for- 
geries. And  it  is  acknowledged  that  the  same  hand  was  con- 
cerned both  in  the  earlier  and  the  later  business." 

"  Yes,  yes — the  same  hand.  Oh !  yes — the  same  liand,"  he 
repeated  with  pathos  unintelligible  to  his  master.  "The  same 
band — the  same  hand  ;  yes,  yes — the  same  hand — that's  the  devil 
of  it — same  hand  done  it  all." 

"Then  what  becomes  of  your  charge  against  my  young  part- 
ner ?  You  were  extremely  fierce  about  it.  So  was  my  brother. 
You  had  no  proofs — nor  had  lie.  If  the  same  hand  was  in  both 
forgeries,  it  could  not  have  been  the  hand  of  George  Austin. 
What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"Nothing.  I'm  never  going" — still  standing,  hands  hanging 
— "  to  say  anything  again  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  But  you  were  very  fierce  about  it,  Checkley.  You  must 
either  find  more  proofs  or  withdraw  your  accusation." 

"Oh!  if  that's  all,  I  withdraw — I  withdraw  everything." 

"  AVhy  did  you  bring  that  charge  then,  Checkley  ?  You've 
been  making  yourself  very  busy  over  the  character  of  my  part- 
ner. You  have  permitted  yourself  to  say  tilings  in  the  office 
before  the  clerks  about  him.  If  it  turns  out  that  he  has  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  business  you  will  be  in  a  very  serious 
position." 

"  I  withdraw — I  withdraw  everything,"  the  old  clerk  replied, 
but  not  meekly.  Ue  was  prepared  to  withdraw,  but  only  because 
he  was  forced. 

"  Remember,  too,  that  it  was  you  who  brought  the  charge 
against  young  Arundel." 

"  I  withdraw — I  withdraw  everything." 

"  You  went  so  far  as  to  remember — the  other  day — having 
seen  him  replace  the  notes  in  the  safe.  "What  do  you  say  to 
that?" 


THE    IVORY    GATE  303 

"  I  withdraw." 

"  But  it  was  a  direct  statement — tlic  testimony  of  an  eye-wit- 
ness. Was  it  true  or  not? — I  don't  know  you  tliis  morning, 
Clieckley.  First,  you  appear  shaking  and  trembling;  then  you 
tell  me  things  which  seem  in  no  way  to  warrant  so  much  agita- 
tion. Next,  you  withdraw  an  accusation  which  ouglit  never  to 
have  been  made  except  with  tlie  strongest  proof.  And  now  you 
wish  to  withdraw  an  alleged  fact." 

Checkley  shook  his  head  helplessly. 

"  I  acknowledge  that  the  business  remains  as  mysterious  as  be- 
fore. Nothing  has  been  found  out.  But  there  remains  an  evi- 
dent and  savage  animosity  on  your  part  towards  two  young  gen- 
tlemen in  succession.     Why?     What  have  they  done  to  you?" 

Checkley  made  reply  in  bold  words,  but  still  standing  witli 
hanging  hands,  "  I  withdraw  the  animosity.  I  withdraw  every- 
thing. As  for  young  Arundel,  he  was  a  supercilious  beast.  We 
were  dirt  beneath  his  feet.  The  whole  earth  belonged  to  him. 
lie  used  to  imitate  my  ways  of  speaking,  and  he  used  to  make 
the  clerks  laugh  at  me.  I  hated  him  then.  I  hate  him  still.  It 
was  fun  to  him  that  an  old  man,  nigh  seventy,  with  no  education, 
shouldn't  speak  like  a  young  gentleman  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
College.  He  used  to  stick  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  as  if  it 
was  a  crown,  and  lie'd  slam  the  door  after  him  as  if  he  was  a 
partner.  I  hated  him.  I  was  never  so  glad  as  when  he  ran  away 
in  a  rage.  lie  was  coming  between  you  and  me,  too — oh  !  I  saw 
it.  Cunning  he  was.  Laying  his  lines  for  to  come  between  you 
and  me." 

"  Why — yon  were  jealous,  Checkley." 

*'  I  was  glad  when  he  ran  away.  And  I  always  tliought  he'd 
done  it,  too.  As  for  seeing  him  put  the  notes  back  in  the  safe,  I 
perceive  now  that  I  never  did  see  him  do  it.  Yet  I  seemed  to  think 
at  the  time  that  I'd  remembered  seeing  liim  do  a  kind  of  a  sort  of 
a  something  like  it.  I  now  perceive  that  I  was  wrong.  He  never 
done  it.  He  hadn't  the  wits  to  contrive  it.  That  sort  is  never 
half  sharp.  Too  fine-gentleman  for  such  a  trick.  Oh  !  I  know 
what  yon  are  going  to  say  next.  '  How  about  the  second  young 
fellow  V  I  hate  him,  too.  I  hate  him  because  he's  the  same  super- 
cilious beast  as  the  other,  and  because  he's  been  able  to  get  round 
you.  He's  carneyed  you — no  fool  like  an  old  fool — and  flattered 
you — till  you've  made  hiin  a  partner.     I've  worked  for  you,  heart 


304  THE    IVORY    GATE 

and  soul,  for  sixty  years  and  more,  and  this  boy  comes  in  and  cuts 
me  out  in  a  twelvemonth." 

"Well!  but,  Clicckley  —  hang  it!  —  I  wouldirt  make  you  a 
partner." 

"  You  didn't  want  no  partners.  You  could  do  your  work,  and 
I  could  do  mine  and  yours  too,  even  if  you  did  want  to  go  asleep 
of  an  afternoon." 

"  This  is  grave,  however.  You  hated  Mr.  Austin,  and  there- 
fore you  bring  against  hira  this  foul  charge.  Tiiis  is  very  grave, 
Checklcy." 

"  No,  I  thought  he  was  guilty.  T  did,  indeed.  Everything 
pointed  that  way.  And  I  don't  undirstand  about  young  Arundel, 
because  he  came  into  the  Salutation  with  the  Cambridge  gentle- 
man wlio  gets  drunk  there  every  night,  and  he  said  that  he'd  lived 
at  Caniberwcll  for  eight  years  with  bad  company  as  I  wouldn't 
name  to  you,  sir.     I  thought  he  was  guilty.     I  did,  indeed." 

"  And  now?" 

"Oh!  now  it  is  all  over.  Everything's  upsy-down.  Nobody's 
guilty.  I  know  now  that  he  hasn't  had  anything  to  do  witli  it. 
lie's  a  young  man  of  very  slow  intelligence  and  inferior  parts. 
lie  couldn't  have  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  We  ought  to  have 
known  that." 

"  Well,  but  wlio  lias  done  it,  after  all  ?" 

"  That's  it."  Clieckley  was  so  troubled  that  he  dropped  into  a 
chair  in  the  presence  of  his  master.  "  That's  it.  Who's  done  it? 
Don't  you  know  who  done  it?  No,  I  see  you  don't  so  much  as 
suspect.  No  more  don't  I.  Else — what  to  do — what  to  say — 
Lord  only  knows  I"  He  turned  and  ran ;  he  scuttled  out  of  the 
room,  banging  the  door  behind  him. 

"  He's  mad,"  said  Mr.  Bering.  *'  Poor  man  !  Age  makes  men 
forgetful,  but  it  has  driven  Checkley  mad." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  305 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE    THREE    ACCOMPLICES 

On  that  same  evening  the  three  accomplices — probably  on  the 
proceeds  of  their  iniquities — were  dining  together  at  the  Savoy. 
After  dinner  they  sat  on  the  veranda  overlooking  the  river  and 
tlic  Embankment.  'Tis  sweet,  what  time  the  evening  shades 
prevail,  while  one  is  still  in  the  stage  of  physical  comfort  and 
mental  peace  attendant  upon  an  artistic  little  banquet,  to  view 
from  the  serene  lieights  of  a  balcony  at  that  liotel  the  unquiet 
figures  of  those  who  flit  backwards  and  forwards  below.  They 
— alas! — have  not  dined  so  well,  or  they  could  not  walk  so  fast, 
or  drag  llieir  limbs  so  hopelessly,  or  lean  over  the  wall  so  sadly. 

Elsie  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hands,  looking  down  upon  this 
scene,  though  not  quite  with  these  thoughts.  Young  ladies  who 
are  quite  happy,  and  are  going  to  be  married  next  week,  do  not 
make  these  comparisons.  Happiness  is  selfish.  When  one  is 
quite  happy,  everybody  else  seems  quite  happy  too — even  Laz- 
arus and  the  leper.  We  must  never  be  happy  if  we  do  not  wish 
to  be  selfish. 

Coffee  was  on  the  table.  Athelstan  had  a  cigar.  They  were 
all  tliree  silent.  During  dinner  they  had  talked  gayly,  because 
everybody  knows  that  you  cannot  talk  with  strange  people  listen- 
ing. After  dinner  they  sat  in  silence,  because  it  is  only  when 
the  waiters  are  gone  that  one  is  free  to  talk. 

"Elsie,"  said  George  presently,  "you  liave  something  to  tell 
us — something  you  have  discovered.  For  my  own  part,  since  I 
handed  the  case  over  to  anybody  else,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  not  in- 
terested in  it.  But  still,  one  would  like  to  know — just  for  curi- 
osity's sake — when  Chcckley  is  to  be  '  run  in.'  " 

"Yes,"  said  Elsie,  "I  must  tell  you.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
told  you  before.  Yet  there  was  a  reason.  Now — you  will  be 
greatly  astonished,  George." 

"Before  you  begin,  Elsie" — Athelstan  removed  his  cigar — "I 


306  THE    IVORY    GATE 

must  tell  yoii  tbat  yesterday  cvenini;  I,  too,  made  a  discovery — 
what  the  Americans  call  a  pivotal  discovery — a  discovery  that  dis- 
covers cvcrythini;.  I  should  have  told  you  last  night,  but  you 
announced  your  communications  for  this  evening,  and  I  thought 
we  would  expose  our  discoveries  at  the  same  time." 

"  You  have  found  out,  too  !"  Elsie  cried.  "  I  see  by  your  face 
that  you  have.  Well,  Athelstan,  so  much  the  better.  Now,  tell 
your  discovery  first,  and  I  will  follow." 

"It  is  this.  I  have  discovered  Edmund  Gray.  I  have  sat 
with  him,  and  discoursed  with  him,  in  Freddy  Carstone's  cham- 
bers. He  came  in,  sat  beside  me,  and  conversed  for  more  than 
an  hour." 

"Oh  !"  said  Elsie.    "  Then  you  know  all — as  much  as  I  know." 

"Observe,"  George  interposed,  "that  /know  nothing  as  yet." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  George.  Learn  that  I  have  myself  known 
Mr.  Edmund  Gray  for  a  fortnight.  You  will  think,  perhaps,  that 
I  ought  to  have  told  you  before.  Well — but  there  is  a  reason — 
besides,  the  way,  to  begin  with,  did  not  lie  quite  clear  before  me. 
Now  the  time  has  come  when  you  should  advise  as  to  the  best 
course  to  follow." 

"  You  have  certainly  been  more  mysterious  than  any  oracle, 
Elsie.  Yet  you  will  bear  witness,  if  it  comes  to  bearing  witness, 
that  I  accepted  your  utterances  and  believed  in  them." 

"You  certainly  did,  George.  And  now,  Athelstan,  tell  him 
the  whole." 

"  In  one  word,  then — Edmund  Gray,  the  man  we  have  been 
looking  after  so  long,  is  none  other  than  Edward  Dcring,  of  12 
New  Square,  Lincoln's  Inn,  solicitor." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  George,  bewildered.  "Say  it  all 
again." 

Athelstan  repeated  his  words. 

"  That  is  my  discovery,  too,"  said  Elsie.  "  Now  you  know  all, 
as  you  understand." 

"  But  I  don't  understand.  How  can  one  man  be  another 
man  ?" 

"  I  sat  beside  one  man,"  Athelstan  added,  "  for  an  hour  and 
more;  and  lo !  all  the  time  he  was  another  man." 

"  And  still  I  am  fogged.     What  does  it  mean  ?" 

"  It  means,  George,  what  you  would  never  suspect.  The  one 
man  received  mc  as  a  stranger.     He  knew  nothing  about  me ;  he 


THE    IVORY    GATE  307 

had  never  heard  my  name,  even.  Yet  the  other  man  knows  ine 
so  well.  It  was  very  odd  at  first.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  talking  to  a 
sleep- walker." 

"Oh!"  cried  George,  "I  know  now.  You  have  seen  Mr.  Ber- 
ing in  a  kind  of  sleep-walking  state — I,  too,  liave  seen  him  thus. 
But  tlie said  nothing." 

"Ton  may  call  it  sleep-walking  if  you  like.  But,  George, 
there  is  another  and  a  more  scientific  name  for  it.  The  old  man 
is  mad.  He  has  fits  of  madness,  during  which  he  plays  another 
part,  under  another  name.     Now,  do  you  understand?" 

"  Yes ;  but — is  it  possible  ?" 

"  It  is  more  than  possible ;  it  is  an  actual  certainty.  Wait. 
Let  Elsie  tell  her  story." 

Then  Elsie  began,  with  a  little  air  of  triumph,  because  it  is  not 
given  to  every  young  lady  to  find  out  what  all  the  men  have 
failed  to  find. 

"  Well — you  see — I  was  always  thinking  over  this  business, 
and  wondering  why  nothing  was  found  out  about  it,  and  watch- 
ing you  look  this  way  and  that,  and  it  occurred  to  mc  that  the 
first  thing  of  all  was  to  find  out  this  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  and  lay 
hands  upon  him.  At  first  I  thought  I  would  just  go  and  stand 
outside  his  door  all  day  long  and  every  day  until  he  came.  But 
that  seemed  a  waste  of  time.  So  I  remembered  how  you  found 
his  door  open,  and  went  in,  and  spoke  to  the  laundress.  I 
thought  that  I  would  do  the  same  thing,  and  sit  down  there,  and 
wait  until  he  should  come.  But  I  was  afraid  to  sit  in  the  rooms 
of  a  strange  man  all  alone — no,  I  could  not  do  it.  So  I  just 
found  out  the  old  woman — the  laundress — as  you  did,  George, 
and  I  gave  her  money,  and  she  told  me  that  Mr.  Gray  was  at  his 
chambers  almost  every  Saturday  afternoon.  Very  well ;  if  any- 
body chose  to  wait  for  him  all  Saturday  afternoon,  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  found.  So  on  Saturday  afternoon  I  took  a  cab  and 
drove  to  Ilolborn,  and  got  to  the  place  before  his  arrival.  But 
again,  as  it  was  not  quite  nice  to  stand  at  an  open  doorway  in  a 
public  square,  I  thought  I  would  wait  on  the  stairs.  So  I 
mounted — the  doors  were  all  closed — nobody  was  left  in  the 
place  at  all — I  thought  I  should  be  perfectly  safe  and  undis- 
turbed, when  I  heard  the  noise  of  footsteps  overhead — a  tramp, 
tramp,  tramp  up  and  down,  with  every  now  and  then  a 
groan — like  a  hungry  creature   in   a  cage.      This  kept  on  for 


308  THE    IVORY    GATE 

a  long  time,  and  friglitcncJ  nic  horribly.  I  was  still  more 
frightened  when  a  door  overhead  opened  and  shut,  and  the  foot- 
steps came  down-stairs.  They  belonged  to  a  man — an  elderly 
roan — who  seemed  as  much  frightened  at  seeing  me  as  I  was  at 
seeing  him.  lie  asl;cd  me  whether  I  wanted  any  one;  and  when 
I  said  I  wanted  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  he  said  that  he  was  a  friend 
of  Mr.  (Jray's,  and  that,  since  I  was  a  friend  too,  I  might  act  for 
Edmund  Gray,  and  lend  him  some  money.  He  looked  desper- 
ately poor  and  horribly  hungry,  and  tliin  and  shabby,  the  poor 
old  man  I" 

"So  you  acted  for  Edmund  Gray.  That  was  old  Lnnghornc. 
lie  is  a  barrister,  who  lives  in  the  garret,  and  is  horribly  down  on 
his  luck.     Go  on." 

"Poor  Elsie  I"  said  George.  "Think  of  her,  all  alone  on  the 
staircase !" 

"  \Vhcn  he  was  gone,  there  was  no  sound  at  all.  The  place 
was  perfectly  quiet.  The  time  passed  so  slowly — oh !  so  slowly. 
At  last,  however,  I  heard  a  step.  It  came  up  the  stairs.  Oh ! 
my  heart  began  to  beat.  Suppose  it  shuuld  be  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray  ?  Suppose  it  was  some  uther  person  ?  Suppose  it  was  some 
horror  of  a  man  ?  But  I  had  not  long  to  wait,  because  Mr.  Ed- 
mund Gray  himself  stood  on  the  landing.  He  stared  at  me, 
rather  surprised  to  find  a  young  lady  on  the  stairs,  but  he  showed 
no  sign  of  recognition  whatever.  I  was  a  complete  stranger  to 
him." 

"And  was  the  man  Mr.  Dering?" 

"He  was — Mr.  Dering.  There  was  just  the  least  little  change 
in  him.  He  wore  his  coat  open  instead  of  buttoned.  He  had 
no  gloves,  his  hat  was  not  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  his  face  was 
somehow  lighter  and  brighter  than  usual." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Athelstan.  "Exactly  with  these  little 
changes  he  presented  himself  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  there  is  another  man  in  the  world  exactly  like  him." 

"  Futile  remark  !     Go  on,  Elsie." 

"Then  I  guessed  in  a  moment  what  it  meant.  I  stepped  for- 
ward, and  asked  him  if  he  was  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  And  then  I 
followed  him  into  his  rooms.  George,  there  is  no  manner  of 
doubt  whatever.  Mr.  Dering  has  periods — whether  regular  or  not 
I  cannot  tell — when  he  loses  himself,  and  becomes  in  imagination 
another  man.     He  is  mad,  if  you  like,  but  there  is  method  in  his 


THE    IVORY    GATE  309 

niatlncss.  Tlic  other  man  is  just  himself  turned  inside  out.  Mv. 
Deriiig  believes  in  the  possible  wickedness  of  everybody ;  the 
other  man  believes  in  the  actual  goodness  of  every  man.  Mr. 
Dering  considers  property  the  only  stable  foundation  of  society ; 
the  other  man  considers  property  the  root  of  all  evil.  Mr.  Der- 
ing is  hard  and  jealous;  the  other  man  is  full  of  geniality  and 
benevolence.     Mr.  Dering  is  Justice ;  the  other  man  is  Mercy." 

"  Very  neatly  put,  Elsie.  There  is  quite  an  eighteenth-century 
balance  about  your  sentences  and  sentiments.  So  far" — Athel- 
stan  contributed  his  confirmation — "  so  far  as  I  could  judge, 
nothing  could  be  more  true.  I  found  my  man  the  exact  oppo- 
site of  himself." 

"  Can  such  a  thing  be  possible  ?  If  I  were  to  speak  to  him, 
would  he  not  know  mc?" 

"You  forget,  George.  You  liave  seen  him  in  that  condition, 
and  he  did  not  know  you." 

"Nothing  is  more  common" — Athelstan,  the  journalist,  began 
to  draw  upon  the  encyclopaedic  memory  which  belongs  to  his 
profession — "than  such  a  forgetfulness  of  self.  Have  you  ever 
been  into  a  lunatic  asylum?  I  have — for  professional  purposes. 
I  have  discoursed  with  the  patients,  and  been  instructed  by  the 
physicians.  Half  the  time  many  of  the  patients  are  perfectly  ra- 
tional;  during  the  other  half  they  seem  to  assume  another  mind 
with  other  memories.  It  is  not  real  possession,  as  the  ancients 
called  it,  because  they  never  show  knowledge  other  than  what  they 
have  learned  before.  Thus,  a  sane  man  who  cannot  draw  would 
never  in  insanity  become  an  artist.  So  Mr.  Dering,  when  he  is 
mad,  brings  tlic  same  logical  power  and  skill  to  bear  upon  a  dif- 
ferent set  of  maxims  and  opinions.  Said  a  physician  to  mc  at 
this  asylum  of  which  I  speak,  'There  are  thousands  of  men  and 
women,  but  especially  men,  who  are  mad  every  now  and  then, 
and  don't  know  it.  Most  of  the  crimes  are,  I  believe,  committed 
in  moments  of  madness.  A  young  fellow  steals  money — it  is 
because  at  the  moment  he  is  so  mad  that  he  even  persuades  him- 
self that  borrowing  is  not  stealing;  that  he  is  only  borrowing; 
that  he  can  get  it  back,  and  put  it  back,  before  it  is  found  out. 
What  is  uncontrollable  rage  but  sudden  madness?  There  are 
the  men  who  know  that  they  are  mad  on  some  point  or  other, 
and  cunningly  hide  it,  and  are  never  found  out.  And  there  are 
the  men  who  are  mad,  and  don't  know  it.     In  their  mad  times 


310  TlIK    IVOUY    GATE 

they  commit  all  kinds  of  cxtrava2;anccs  and  follies,  yet  somehow 
they  escape  detection.'  So  he  talked ;  and  he  told  me  of  a  man 
who  was  a  lawyer  in  one  town  with  a  wife  and  family,  and  also 
a  lawyer  in  anotlier  with  a  different  wife  and  family.  But  one 
hiwycr  never  found  out  the  other;  and  the  thinj^  was  only  dis- 
covered when  the  man  got  a  paralytic  stroke  and  died  in  a  kind 
of  hewildermcnt,  because,  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  be  the 
other  man,  he  found  liimself  lying  in  a  strange  bedroom  with  a 
strange  family  round  him.  I  had  long  forgotten  tlie  asylum.  I 
did  the  place  for  my  paper  three  or  four  years  ago,  and  scored 
by  the  description.  Since  last  night  I  have  been  recalling  my 
experience,  and  applying  it.  You  see,  there  can  never  be  any 
physical  change.  This  is  no  llyde  and  Jekyll  business.  AVhat- 
cvcr  happens  must  be  conducted  with  the  same  body  and  the 
same  mind.  The  same  processes  of  mind  in  which  the  man  is 
trained  remain,  but  his  madness  requires  a  new  setting." 

"One  cannot  understand,"  said  Elsie. 

"  No.  Hut  then  one  cannot  understand  everytliing.  That's 
the  real  beauty  of  this  world ;  wc  arc  planted  in  the  midst  of 
things;  wc  can  give  names  to  them — Adam  began  that  way, 
didn't  he  ? — but  wc  can't  understand  any  of  them  ;  and  most 
people  think  that  when  we  have  given  a  name  we  have  succeeded 
in  understanding.  Well,  Klsic — we  don't  understand.  But  wc 
may  find  out  something.  I  take  it  that  the  other  man  grew  up 
by  degrees  in  his  brain,  so  that  there  is  no  solution  of  the  con- 
tinuity of  thought  and  recollection.  The  Edmund  Gray  devel- 
oped liimself.  lie  has  been  developed  for  nearly  ten  years,  since 
he  has  occupied  the  same  chambers  all  the  time." 

"But  about  the  forgeries?"  George  sprang  to  his  feet.  "I 
declare,"  he  cried,  "  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  real  bearing  on  our 
case." 

"  Edmund  Gray,"  said  Elsie,  "  says  that  his  own  lawyer  who  man- 
ages his  affairs  is  Edward  Dering.  If  he  were  to  write  letters 
while  Edmund  Gray,  he  would  not  impose  upon  Edward  Dering." 

"  lie  cannot  write  to  two  men,"  said  Athclstan.  "There  must 
be  a  border-land  between  the  waking  and  the  dreaming,  when  the 
two  spirits  of  Edmund  Gray  and  Edward  Dering  contend  for  the 
mastery,  or  when  they  command  each  other — when  Edmund  Gray 
endorses  checks  and  Edward  Dering  writes  letters  and  conducts 
transfers  for  his  client — his  double — himself." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  311 

"  I  have  seen  him  in  such  a  state,"  said  George.  "  At  tlie  time 
I  never  suspected  anything  but  a  passing  trouble  of  mind,  which 
caused  him  to  be  so  wrapped  up  in  his  thoughts  as  not  to  be  able 
to  distinguish  anything.  He  was  then,  I  doubt  not  now,  carrying 
out  the  instructions  of  Edmund  Gray,  or  he  was  Edmund  Gray 
acting  for  himself.  Checkley  whispered  not  to  disturb  him.  He 
said  that  he  had  often  seen  liim  so." 

"  I  have  never  tried  to  understand,"  said  Elsie ;  "  but  I  saw 
that  Edmund  Gray  was  Mr.  During  gone  mad,  and  that  he  liim- 
sclf,  and  nobody  else,  was  the  perpetrator  of  all  these  forgeries ; 
and  I  have  been  trying  to  discover  the  best  way — the  kindest 
way  to  him — the  surest  way  for  us — of  getting  the  truth  known. 
George,  this  is  the  secret  of  my  mysterious  movements.  This  is 
why  I  have  not  given  you  a  single  evening  for  a  whole  fortnight. 
Every  evening — both  Sund;iys — I  have  spent  with  this  dear  old 
man.  He  is  the  most  delightful — the  most  gentle — the  most 
generous — old  man  that  you  ever  saw.  He  is  full  of  ideas— oh  ! 
quite  full — and  they  carry  you  out  of  yourself,  until  you  awake 
next  morning  to  find  that  they  are  a  dream.  I  have  fallen  in 
love  with  him.  I  have  had  the  most  charming  fortnight — only 
one  was  always  rather  afraid  that  lie  might  come  to  himself, 
which  would  be  awkward." 

"  Well,  lillsie,  have  you  found  a  way?" 

"  I  think  I  have.  First,  I  have  discovered  that  when  he  is  sur- 
rounded with  things  that  remind  him  of  Edmund  Gray,  he  re- 
mains Edmund  Gray.  Next,  I  have  found  out  that  I  can,  by 
talking  to  him  even  at  his  office,  when  he  has  his  papers  before 
him,  turn  liim  into  Edmund  Gray." 

"You  arc  a  witcli,  Elsie." 

"She  is,"  said  George,  looking  ;it  her  in  the  foolish  lover's 
way.  "  You  sec  what  she  lias  turned  me  into — a  long  time  ago 
— and  she  has  never  turned  me  back  again." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  too,"  said  Athclstan.  "  For  our  pur- 
poses, it  would  be  enough  to  prove  the  identity  of  Edmund  Gray 
and  Edward  Dcring.  That  exj)lains  the  resemblance  of  the  hand- 
writing and  of  the  endorsement.  My  commissionnaire's  recollec- 
tion of  the  man  also  identities  the  check  as  drawn  by  himself  for 
himself  under  another  name.  It  explains  tlic  presence  of  the 
notes  in  the  safe.  It  also  shows  that  the  long  series  of  letters 
which  passed  between  him  and  the  broker  were  written  by  him- 


312  THE    IVOKY    GATE 

self  for  liiinsclf.  Here,  however,  is  a  tlifliciilty.  I  can  understand 
Edward  Dering  believing  himself  to  be  Edmund  CJra}',  because  I 
have  seen  it.  But  I  cannot  understand  Edward  Dering  believing 
himself  to  be  the  solicitor  to  Edmund  (Jray  and  writing  at  his 
command." 

"  JUit  I  have  seen  him  in  that  condition,"  said  Elsie.  "It  was 
while  he  was  changing  from  one  to  the  other,  lie  sat  like  one 
who  listens.  1  think  that  Edmund  Gray  was  at  his  elbow 
speaking  to  him.  I  think  I  could  make  him  write  a  letter 
by  instruction  from  Jvlmund  Gray.  That  he  should  believe 
himself  acting  for  a  client  in  writing  to  the  broker  is  no  more 
wonderful  than  that  lie  should  believe  himself  another  man  alto- 
gether." 

"Show  me,  if  you  can,  the  old  man  acting  for  an  imaginary 
client.  Meantime,  1  mentioned  the  point  as  a  diflioulty.  Prove, 
liowever,  to  Mr.  Dering  and  to  the  others  concerned  that  he  is  Ed- 
mund Gray,  and  all  is  proved.  And  this  we  can  do  by  a  host  of 
witnesses." 

"  I  want  more  than  this,  Athelstan,"  said  Elsie.  "  It  would  .still 
be  open  to  the  enemy  to  declare  that  George,  or  you,  or  I,  had 
made  use  of  his  madness  for  our  own  purposes.  I  want  a  history 
of  the  whole  case  written  out  by  Edmund  Gray  himself — a  thing 
that  we  can  show  to  Mr.  Dering  and  to  everybody  else.  I)ut  I 
dreail  his  discovery.  Already  he  is  suspicious  and  anxious,  I 
sometimes  think  that  he  is  half  conscious  of  his  condition.  We 
must  break  it  to  him  as  gently  as  we  can.  But  the  shock  may 
kill  him.  Yet  there  is  no  escape.  If  the  forgeries  were  known 
only  to  ourselves,  wc  might  keep  the  discovery  a  secret;  and 
only,  if  necessary — but  it  would  not  be  necessary — keep  some 
sort  of  watch  over  him  and  warn  the  bank.  But  Checkley  lias 
told  the  clerks  and  the  people  at  the  bank,  and  there  are  our- 
selves to  think  of,  and  my  mother  and  llihla.  No;  we  must  let 
them  all  know." 

"  And,  if  one  may  mention  one's  self,"  said  Athelstan,  "  my 
own  little  difficulty  presses.  Becau.sc,  you  see,  I  don't  know  how 
long  I  may  be  kept  here.  Perhaps  to-morrow  I  might  go  on  to 
St.  Petersburg  or  to  Pekin.  Before  I  go,  Elsie,  I  confess  that  I 
should  like  my  mother  to  understand  that — that  she  was  a  little 
basty — that  is  all." 

"  You  arc  not  going  to  St.  Petersburg,  brother."     Elsie  took 


THE    IVORY    GATE  313 

his  Jiand.     "You  arc  not  going  to  leave  us  any  more.     You  arc 
going  to  stay.     I  have  made  another  discovery." 

"  Pray,  if  one  may  ask — " 

"Oh !  you  may  ask.  I  have  seen  a  letter — Mr.  During  showed 
it  to  me.  It  was  written  from  the  States  three  or  four  years  ago. 
Tt  showed  where  you  were  at  that  time — and  showed  me  more, 
Athcistan — it  showed  inc  how  you  lost  the  pile  of  money  that 
you  made  over  that  silver  mine — you  remember,  Athelstan  ?" 

He  made  no  reply. 

"Oh!  do  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  accept  this  sacrifice? 
George,  you  do  not  know.  The  donor  of  that  great  sum  of 
money  which  Mr.  Dcring  held  for  me — we  have  often  wondered 
who  it  was — I  have  only  found  out  to-day — it  was  Athelstan. 
lie  gave  me  all  lie  had — for  such  a  trifling  thing — onlv  because 
I  would  not  believe  that  he  was  a  villain — all  he  liad  in  the  world 
— and  went  out  again  into  the  cold,  lie  said  he  dropped  his 
money  down  a  gully  or  a  grating  on  the  prairie — some  nonsense. 
And  he  sent  it  all  to  me,  George.     What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"Is  this  really  true,  Athelstan?  Did  you  really  give  up  all  this 
money  to  Elsie?" 

"  She  says  so." 

"  It  is  quite  true,  George.  I  saw  the  letter — Mr.  Dering 
showed  it  to  me — in  which  he  sent  that  money  home,  and  begged 
Mr.  Dcring  to  take  care  of  it,  and  to  give  it  to  me  on  the  day 
when  I  should  be  one-and-twenty.  lie  cannot  deny  it.  Look  at 
him.  He  blushes — he  is  ashamed — he  hangs  his  head — he  blows 
tobacco-smoke  about  in  clouds,  hoping  to  hide  his  red  cheeks. 
And  he  talks  of  going  on  to  St.  Petersburg,  when  we  know  this 
secret  and  have  got  the  money  !  "What  do  you  call  this  conduct, 
George  ?" 

"Athcistan — there  is  no  word  for  it.  But  you  must  have  it 
back.  You  must  and  shall.  There  can  be  no  discussion  about 
it.  And  there  is  not  another  man  in  the  world,  I  believe,  who 
would  have  done  it." 

"  Nonsense.  I  should  only  liave  lost  it  if  I  had  kept  it,"  Ath- 
elstan replied,  after  tlie  Irish  fashion. 

"You  hear,  Athelstan.     It  is  yours.     There  can  be  no  discus- 
sion.    That's  what  I  like  a  man  for.     While  we  women  are  all 
talking  and  disputing  the  man   puts  down  his  foot,  and  says, 
'  There  can  be  no  discussion.'     Then  we  all  stop,  and  the  right 
14 


314  THE    IVORY    GATE 

thino;  is  done.  It  is  yours,  brotlicr ;  and  you  sliall  have  it,  and 
you  shall  stay  at  home  with  us  always  and  always,"  She  laid 
bcr  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  iicr  arm  round  his  neck,  carcss- 
inix  him  with  liand  and  voice. 

The  man  who  had  wandered  alone  for  cifi;lit  years  was  not  ac- 
customed to  sisterly  caresses.  They  moved  him.  The  thino;  itself 
moved  liim. 

"  All  this  belongs  to  another  chapter,"  he  said  huskily.  *'  We 
will  talk  of  it  afterwards,  when  the  business  in  hand  is  despatched." 

"  \\'ell,  then — that  is  apjreed.  You  are  to  have  your  money 
back;  my  mother  is  to  take  her  suspicions  back;  Mr.  Derinj^  is 
to  have  his  certificates  back  and  his  dividends;  Checkley  is  to 
take  his  lies  back  ;  Sir  iSamucl  is  to  have  his  changes  back  ;  George 
and  I  arc  going  to  have  our  peace  of  mind  back.  And  we  arc 
all  going  to  live  happy  ever  afterwards." 

"As  for  Wednesday,  now,"  said  George — "it  is  not  an  iiniiii- 
portant  day  for  us,  you  know." 

"  Everything  is  ready.  On  Sunday  morning  my  mother  is  al- 
ways at  home  before  church.  I  will  sec  her  then,  and  acquaint 
her  with  the  news  that  the  wedding  will  take  place,  as  originally 
proposed,  at  her  house.  This  will  astonish  her  very  much,  and 
she  will  become  angry  and  polite  and  sarcastic.  Then  I  shall  tell 
her  to  prepare  not  only  for  a  wedding-feast  but  also  for  a  great, 
a  very  great  surprise.  And  I  sliall  also  inform  her  that  I  shall  be 
given  away  by  my  brother.  And  then — then — if  I  know  my 
mother  aright — she  will  become  silent.  I  shall  do  that  to-morrow 
morning.  In  the  evening,  George,  you  will  get  your  best  man, 
and  I  will  get  your  sisters,  my  bridesmaids,  and  wc  will  come 
liere,  or  go  to  Richmond  or  somewhere — and  have  dinner  and  a 
cheerful  evening.     Am  I  arranging  things  properly?" 

"  Quite  properly.     Pray  go  on." 

"Sunday  afternoon  I  have  promised  to  spend  with  my  master — 
Edmund  Gray.  He  is  going  to  read  me  a  new  paper  he  has  just 
finished,  in  which  he  shows  that  property  can  be  destroyed  by  a 
painless  process — Athclstan,  put  all  your  money  into  your  pocket, 
and  keep  it  there — in  less  than  a  twelvemonth,  and  with  it  all 
crime,  all  sweating,  all  injustice.  No,  Athelstan,  he  is  not  mad. 
When  he  argues  on  this  theme  he  is  persuasive  and  eloquent. 
He  convinces  everybody.  I  shall  hear  him  out,  and  then  I  shall 
try  to  make  him  write  down  all  that  has  happened.     If  wc  can 


THE    IVORY    GATE  315 

only  get  such  a  confession,  it  would  be  better  than  anything  else. 
But  it  may  be  difficult,  lie  docs  not  like  being  questioned  about 
liiniself.  If  I  do  succeed — I  don't  know  quite  what  I  ought  to 
do  next,  lie  must  be  told.  Some  time  or  other  he  must  have 
the  truth.  I  thought  of  asking  all  the  people  mentioned  to  meet 
at  his  office  on  Monday  at  noon,  when  Mr.  Bering  is  always  him- 
self. On  Sunday  I  would  not.  lie  has  to  address  his  people  on 
Sunday  evening.  Let  him  do  so  undisturbed.  I  will  leave  him 
in  happiness  that  one  night  longer.  But  you  two — you  will  be 
anxious.  Come  on  Sunday  evening — between  eight  and  nine — 
to  the  Hall  of  Science.  Then  you  will  hear  him  and  see  me. 
And  I  will  let  you  know  how  I  have  prospered." 

"Sunday  evening,"  said  Ceorge.  "Monday  comes  next,  then 
Tuesday;  and  before  Wednesday,  my  Elsie,  the  character  of  these 
two  convicts  has  to  be  completely  whitewashed,  even  to  the  satis- 
faction of  Hilda  herself.     Are  we  not  running  it  pretty  close?" 

"Unbeliever!  Doubter!  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  be  married 
with  all  your  friends  round  you,  and  that  Athelstan  shall  give  me 
away.  And  you  shall  go  away  on  your  holiday  with  a  quiet  heart 
and  nothing  to  trouble  you.  What  a  foolish  boy  not  to  be  able 
to  trust  his  bride  even  for  such  a  simple  thing  as  getting  a  con- 
fession out  of  a  madman  !" 

"  Do  you  sport  a  crest,  old  man  V  asked  Athelstan. 

"  I  believe  there  is  some  kind  of  a  sort  of  a  thing  somewhere 
around.     But  crests  are  foolishness." 

"  Not  always.  Take  a  new  one,  George — a  real  one.  Stamp 
it  on  your  spoons  and  forks,  and  in  your  books,  and  on  your  car- 
riage.    Let  it  be  simply  the  words,  '  Dux  Foemina  Facti.' " 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ELSIE     AND     HER    MOTHER 


"Can  you  spare  me  a  few  minutes,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Arundel  looked  up  from  the  desk  where  she  was  writing 
a  letter,  and  saw  her  daughter  standing  before  her.  She  started 
and  changed  color,  but  quickly  recovered,  and  replied  coldly,  "  I 


316  THE    IVOHY    GATE 

did  not  bear  you  conic  in,  Elsie.  ^Vllat  do  you  want  with 
roe?" 

Outside,  the  bells  were  ringing  for  church ;  it  was  a  quarter  to 
eleven  ;  Mrs.  Arundel  was  already  dressed  for  church.  She  was 
one  of  those  who  do  not  sec  any  incongruity  between  church  and 
a  heart  full  of  animosities.  She  was  bitter  against  her  daughter 
and  hard  towards  her  son,  and  she  hated  her  son-in-law  elect  with 
all  the  powers  of  her  passionate  nature.  But,  my  brothers,  what 
an  array  of  bare  benches  should  we  sec  in  every  place  of  wor- 
ship were  those  only  admitted  who  came  with  hearts  of  charity 
and  love ! 

"Do  you  wish  to  keep  me  long,  IClsie?  If  so,  we  will  sit  down. 
If  not,  I  am  ready  for  church,  and  I  do  not  like  to  arrive  late. 
People  in  our  position  should  show  a  good  example." 

*'  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  keep  you  very  long.  But  if  you 
sit  down,  you  will  be  so  much  more  comfortable." 

"  Comfort,  Elsie,  you  have  driven  out  of  this  house." 

"I  will  bring  it  back  with  me,  then.  On  Monday  evening, 
mother,  I  am  coming  back." 

"  Oh  !  What  do  you  mean,  child  ?  lias  the  blow  really  fallen  ? 
I  heard  that  it  was  impending.  Is  the  young  man — is  he — a 
prisoner  ?" 

"No,  mother.  You  are  quite  mistaken.  You  have  been  mis- 
taken all  along.     Yet  I  shall  come  back  on  Monday." 

"  Alone,  then  ?" 

"  I  shall  leave  it  to  you  whether  I  come  back  alone,  or  with  the 
two  men  whom  I  most  regard  of  all  the  world — my  lover  and  my 
brother." 

"  You  know  my  opinions,  Elsie.  There  has  been  no  change 
in  them.     There  can  be  none." 

"  Wednesday  is  my  wedding-day." 

*'  I  am  not  interested  in  that  event,  Elsie.  After  your  wed- 
ding with  such  a  man,  against  the  opinions,  the  wishes,  the  com- 
mands of  all  whom  you  are  bound  to  respect,  I  can  only  say  that 
you  are  no  longer  ray  daughter." 

"Oh  I  how  can  you  be  so  fixed  in  such  a  belief?  Mother,  let 
me  make  one  more  appeal  to  your  better  feelings.  Throw  off 
these  suspicions.  Believe  me,  they  are  baseless.  There  is  not  the 
shadow  of  a  foundation  for  this  ridiculous  structure  they  have 
raised.     Consider.     It  is  now — Low  Ions  ? — three  weeks  since 


THE    IVORY   GATE  31 7 

tlicy  hrouglit  this  charge,  and  they  have  proved  notliing — abso- 
lutely notliiiig.  If  you  would  only  be  brought  to  see  on  what 
false  assumptions  the  whole  thing  rests." 

"On  solid  foundations — hard  facts — I  want  no  more." 

"  If  I  could  prove  to  you  that  Athelstan  was  in  America  until 
a  month  ago?" 

"  Unhappy  girl !  He  is  deceiving  you.  He  has  been  living 
for  eight  years  in  proiligacy  near  London.  Elsie,  do  not  waste 
my  time.  It  should  be  enough  for  me  that  my  son-in-law,  Sir 
Samuel  Dering,  a  man  of  the  clearest  head  and  widest  experience, 
is  convinced  that  it  is  impossible  to  draw  any  other  conclusions." 

"  It  is  enough  for  me,"  Elsie  rejoined  quickly,  "  that  my 
heart  tells  me  that  my  brother  and  my  lover  cannot  be  such 
creatures." 

"You  have  sometliing  more  to  say,  I  suppose."  Mrs.  Arundel 
buttoned  her  gloves.  The  clock  was  now  at  five  minutes  before 
eleven. 

"  Yes.     If  it  is  no  use  at  all  trying  to  appeal  to — " 

"  No  use  at  all,"  Mrs.  Arundel  snapped.  "  I  am  not  disposed 
for  sentimental  nonsense." 

"  I  am  sorry,  because  you  will  be  sorry  afterwards.  Well, 
then,  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I  have  made  all  the  prepara- 
tions, with  George's  assistance,  for  Wednesday." 

"Oh!" 

"  Yes.  The  wedding-cake  will  be  sent  in  on  Tuesday.  My 
own  dress — white  satin,  of  course,  very  beautiful — is  finished,  and 
tried  on.  It  will  be  sent  in  on  Monday  evening.  The  two  brides- 
maids' dresses  will  also  come  on  Monday.  George  has  arranged 
at  the  church.  lie  lias  ordered  the  carriages  and  the  bouquets,  and 
has  got  the  ring.  The  presents  you  have  already  in  the  house. 
We  shall  be  married  at  three.  There  will  be  a  little  gathering  of 
the  cousins  after  the  wedding,  and  you  will  give  them  a  little 
simple  dinner  in  the  evening,  which  will,  I  dare  say,  end  with  a 
little  dance.  George  has  also  seen  to  the  red  cloth  for  the  steps, 
and  all  that.  Oh  !  and  on  Thursday  evening  you  will  give  a  big 
dinner-party  to  everybody." 

"  Are  you  gone  quite  mad,  Elsie?" 

"  Not  mad  at  all,  my  dear  mother.  It  is  Sir  Samuel  who  is 
mad,  and  has  driven  you  and  Hilda  mad.  0I» !  everything  will 
come  off  exactly  as  I  tell  you.      Perhaps  you  don't  believe  it?" 


318  THE    IVOUY    GATE 

*'  You  arc  mad,  Elsie.     You  are  certainly  mad." 

"  No,  my  dear  motlicr,  1  am  not  mad.  Oli !  it  is  so  absurd,  if 
it  were  not  so  serious.  But  we  arc  determined,  George  and  I,  not 
to  make  this  absurdity  tiic  cause  of  lasting  bitterness.  Therefore, 
my  dear  mother,  I  do  not  want  to  be  married  from  my  brother's 
lodgings,  but  from  your  house.  You  will  come  to  my  wedding, 
I  prophesy,  full  of  love — full  of  love" — her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
— "  for  inc  and  for  George  and  for  Athelstan — full  of  love  and 
of  sorrow  and  of  self-reproach.  I  am  to  be  given  away  by  my 
brother — you  will  come,  I  say,  with  a  heart  full  of  love  and  of 
pity  for  him.'' 

Mrs.  Arundel  gazed  at  her  stonily. 

"  Everybody  will  be  there,  and  you  will  receive  all  your  friends 
after  the  wedding.  I  have  taken  care  of  the  invitations.  Hilda 
will  be  there  too,  horribly  ashamed  of  herself.  It  will  be  a  lovely 
wedding,  and  we  shall  go  away  with  such  good  wishes  from 
yourself  as  you  would  not  in  your  present  state  of  mind  believe 
possible.  Go  now  to  church,  my  dear  mother,  prepared  for  a 
happy  and  a  joyful  day." 

"  I  sometimes  believe,  Elsie,"  said  Mrs.  Arundel,  more  coldly 
still,  "  that  you  have  been  deprived  of  your  senses.  So  far  from 
this,  I  shall  not  be  present  at  your  wedding.  I  will  not  interfere 
with  your  holding  your  marriage  here  if  you  like ;  you  may  fill 
the  bouse  with  your  friends  if  you  please.  I  shall  myself  take 
shelter  with  my  n)ore  dutiful  daughter.  I  refuse  to  meet  my  un- 
liappy  son.  I  will  not  be  a  consenting  party  to  the  tie  which  will 
entail  a  lifelong  misery — " 

"My  dear  mother — you  will  do  everything  exactly  as  I  have 
prophesied.  Now,  do  not  say  any  more,  because  it  will  only 
make  our  reconciliation  a  little  more  dillicult.  I  ought  to  go  to 
church  on  the  Sunday  before  my  wedding,  if  any  <]ay  in  the  week. 
If  you  would  only  recover  your  trust  in  my  lover's  honor,  I  could 
go  to  church  with  you  and  kneel  beside  you.  But  without  that 
trust —  Oh  !  go,  my  dear  mother.  You  will  find  my  prophecy 
come  true,  word  for  word — believe  mc  or  not." 

Mrs.  Arundel  went  to  church.  During  the  service  she  felt 
strange  prickings  of  foreboding  and  of  compunction  and  of  fear, 
anxiety,  and  hope,  with  a  little  sadness,  caused  by  the  communi- 
cation and  the  assurances  of  her  daughter.  Even  in  such  a  case 
as  this  the  thinker  of  evil  is  sometimes  depressed  by  the  arrival 


TFIE    IVORY    GATE  319 

of  tlic  prophet  of  good.  When  Mrs.  Arundel  came  away  from 
church,  she  became  aware  that  she  had  not  heard  one  single  word 
of  the  sermon.  Not  that  she  wanted  very  much  to  hear  tlie  ser- 
mon, any  more  than  the  first  or  second  lesson — all  three  being 
parts  of  the  whole  which  every  person  of  respectability  must  hear 
once  a  week.  Only,  it  was  disquieting  to  come  away  after  half 
an  hour's  discourse  with  tlie  feeling  that  she  did  not  remember  a 
single  syllabic  of  it.  She  took  her  early  dinner  with  the  other 
daughter,  to  whom  she  communicated  Elsie's  remarkable  con- 
duct, and  her  prediction  and  her  invitation.  It  was  decided  be- 
tween them  that  her  brain  was  alfected — no  doubt,  only  for  a 
time — and  that  it  was  not  expedient  for  them  to  interfere ;  that 
it  was  deplorable,  but  a  part  of  what  might  have  been  expected; 
and  that  time  would  show.  Meanwhile,  Sir  Samuel  reported 
that  it  had  been  resolved  to  get  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  the 
man  Edmund  Gray,  who  hitherto  had  eluded  all  attempts  to  find 
him. 

"Ue  appears  to  be  a  real  person,"  the  knight  concluded — "an 
elderly  man,  whose  character,  so  far  as  we  can  learn,  is  good.  It 
is,  however,  significant  that  nothing  lias  been  discovered  concern- 
ing his  profession  or  calling.  That  is  mysterious.  For  my  own 
part,  I  like  to  know  how  a  man  earns  his  daily  bread.  I  have 
even  consulted  a  person  connected  with  the  police.  Nothing  is 
known  or  suspected  about  him.  But  we  shall  see  as  soon  as  he 
is  before  the  magistrate." 

"  And  Wednesday  is  so  close  !  Oh  1  my  dear  Sir  Samuel,  hurry 
them  up.  Even  at  the  last  moment — even  at  the  risk  of  a  terrible 
scandal — if  Elsie  could  be  saved  !" 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  Samuel,  "it  is  curious— I  don't  understand  it 
— we  had  arranged  for  the  application  for  a  warrant  for  Friday 
morning.  Would  you  believe  it?  that  old  donkey  Chcckley 
won't  go  for  it — wants  it  put  off — says  he  thinks  it  will  l)e  of 
no  use.  What  with  this  young  man  Austin  at  first,  and  this  old 
man  Checkloy  next,  we  seem  in  a  conspiracy  to  defeat  the  ends 
of  justice,  liut  to-morrow  I  shall  go  myself  to  my  brother.  It 
is  time  this  business  was  finished." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Arundel.  "  And,  my  dear  Sir  Samuel, 
before  Wednesday — let  it  be  before  Wednesday,  I  ituplurc  you, 
for  all  our  sakes  !" 

"  My  dear  madam,  it  shall  be  to-morrow." 


320  THE    IVORY    GATE 

At  noon,  Elsie  returned  to  Half  Moon  Street,  where  George 
was  waiting  for  her. 

"I  liavc  made  one  more  attempt,"  she  said,  with  tears,  "but 
it  was  useless.  Her  head  is  as  hard  about  you  as  ever  it  was 
about  Athelstan.  It  is  wonderful  that  she  should  have  so  little 
faith.  I  suppose  it  comes  of  going  into  the  City  and  trying  to 
make  money.  Edmund  (Jray  would  say  so.  I  would  have  told 
lier  all,  but  for  the  t>ld  man's  sake.  He  knows  nothing  ;  he  sus- 
pects nothing;  and  I  want  to  make  the  case  so  complete  that 
there  shall  be  no  doubt — none  whatever — possible  in  the  minds 
of  the  most  suspicious.  Even  Checkley  must  be  satisfied.  I  shall 
finish  the  work,  I  hope,  this  afternoon.  Oh !  George — is  it  pos- 
sible? Is  our  wcdding-(hiy  next  Wednesday — actually  next  Wed- 
nesday ?  And  the  hateful  cloud  shall  be  blown  away,  and — and 
— and — " 

For  the  rest  of  this  chapter  look  into  the  Book  of  Holy  Kisses, 
where  you  will  very  likely  find  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

PLENARY     CONFESSION 


Early  on  Sunday  afternoon  Elsie  started  upon  her  mission. 
She  was  anxious,  because  she  was  entering  upon  a  most  impor- 
tant business,  and  one  requiring  the  greatest  delicacy  in  the  liand- 
ling.  It  was  enough — more  than  enough — tliat  her  witnesses 
should  be  able,  one  after  the  other,  to  identify  Mr.  Bering  with 
Mr.  Edmund  Gray  ;  but  how  much  more  would  lier  hands  be 
strengthened  if  slie  could  produce  a  full  and  complete  narrative 
of  the  wliole  affair,  written  by  the  hand  which  had  done  it  all  ? 
To  get  that  narrative  was  her  business  with  the  master  that 
afternoon.  But  she  was  hopeful,  partly  because  she  knew  her 
power  over  the  philosopher ;  and  partly  because,  like  every  woman 
who  respects  herself,  she  had  always  been  accustomed  to  get  ex- 
actly what  she  wanted,  either  by  asking,  coaxing,  flattering,  or 
taking. 

The  master  was  waiting  for  licr — one  should  never  keep  a 


THE    IVORY    GATE  321 

master  waiting — and  she  was  a  little  late.  lie  was  impatient;  he 
had  so  much  to  talk  about  and  to  teach — one  point  suggested 
another  in  his  mind — so  much  to  say  ;  he  grudged  the  least  de- 
lay ;  he  walked  about  the  rootn,  chafing  because  the  hour  ap- 
pointed was  already  five  minutes  in  the  past;  he  would  scold  her; 
she  must  really  learn  to  be  punctual ;  they  had  only  about  five 
short  hours  before  them  for  all  lie  had  to  say.  Was  this  the  zeal 
of  a  student?  But  at  that  point  she  opened  the  door,  and  ran  in, 
breathless,  smiling,  eager,  holding  out  both  her  hands,  a  dainty, 
delicate  maiden  all  his  own — his  disciple — his  daughter — the 
daughter  of  the  New  Humanity — and  he  forgot  his  irritation,  and 
took  her  hands  in  his,  and  kissed  her  forehead.  "Child,"  he 
sighed,  "  you  are  late.  But  never  mind.  You  are  here.  AVhy, 
you  have  grown  so  precious  to  me  that  I  cannot  bear  you  to  be  a 
minute  late.  It  is  such  a  happiness — such  a  joy  in  the  present — 
such  a  promise  for  the  future — that  I  have  snch  a  disciple !  Now 
sit  down — take  off  your  bonnet.  I  have  put  a  chair  for  you  at 
the  window — and  a  table  for  you  to  write.  Here  is  your  note- 
book. Now — you  have  thought  over  what  I  taught  you  last? 
That  is  well.  Let  us  resume  at  the  point  where  we  left  off — the 
rise  of  the  co-operative  spirit,  which  is  the  rise  of  the  New  Hu- 
manity." 

He  talked  for  two  hours — two  long,  eloquent  hours  ;  he  walked 
about  the  room;  or  he  stopped  before  his  disciple,  emphasizing 
with  the  forefinger  of  admonition — repeating — illustrating  by 
anecdote  and  memory — he  had  a  prodigious  memory.  The 
scholar  listened  intelligently.  Sometimes  she  asked  a  question ; 
sometimes  she  made  notes.  You  must  not  think  that  she  was  a 
sham  scholar;  her  interest  in  the  master's  system  was  not  simu- 
lated. Above  all  things  she  loved  to  hear  this  enthusiast  talk 
— who  would  not  love  to  hear  of  the  New  Jerusalem?  Always 
he  made  her  heart  to  glow  with  the  vision  that  he  conjured  up 
before  her  eyes  of  a  world  where  there  should  be  no  more  sorrow 
nor  crying,  nor  any  more  pain,  nor  any  of  the  former  things.  He 
made  her  actually  sec — what  others  only  read  of — the  Foursquare 
City  itself,  with  its  gates  open  night  and  day,  its  jasper  walls,  and 
its  twelve  foundations  of  precious  stones.  "  Why,"  he  said,  "the 
gates  are  open  night  and  day  because  there  is  no  property  to  de- 
fend ;  and  the  walls  are  of  jasper  because  it  is  the  most  beautiful 
of  minerals,  and  because  it  can  be  polished  like  a  mirror,  so  that 
14* 


322  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  country  around  is  reflected  on  its  surface,  which  shows  that  it 
all  belongs  to  the  city  ;  and  the  precious  stones  arc  the  twelve 
cardinal  virtues  of  Humanity,  on  which  the  Order  of  the  Future 
shall  rest — namely,  Faith,  IJrothcrly  Love,  Obedience,  Patience, 
Loyalty,  Constancy,  Chastity,  Couran^o,  Hope,  Simplicity,  Tender- 
ness, and  Industry.  It  is  an  allegory — the  whole  book  is  an  alle- 
gory— of  Humanity."  And  she  saw,  beside  the  city,  the  river  of 
life  with  the  tree  of  life  for  the  healing  of  all  nations. 

Then  she  clean  forgot  the  purpose  for  which  she  had  come; 
she  was  carried  away  ;  her  heart  beat — her  cheek  glowed.  Oh ! 
lovely  vision!  Oh!  great  and  glorious  proj)hct!  lie  made  a 
heaven,  and  place<l  it  on  this  eartli.  Now  the  mind  of  man  can 
conceive  of  no  other  happiness  but  that  which  humanity  can 
make  out  of  the  actual  materials  found  upon  this  earthly  ball. 
The  lieaven,  even  of  the  most  spiritual,  is  a  glorified  world ;  the 
liell,  even  of  the  most  gentle,  is  a  world  of  fleshly  pain  ;  no  other 
heaven  attracts;  no  other  hell  terrifies;  there  is  no  promise  or 
hope  or  prospect  or  inheritance  that  man  desires  or  poet  can 
feign  or  visionary  can  preach  but  an  cartiily  heaven  ;  it  must  be  a 
heaven  containing  sunshine  and  shower,  kindly  fruits  in  due  sea- 
son, love  and  joy  and  music  and  art,  and  men  and  women  who  love 
each  other  and  labor  for  each  other.  Such  a  world — such  a  New 
Jerusalem — the  master  drew  every  day;  he  loved  it  and  lingered 
over  it;  he  painted  over  and  over  again  this  splendid  vision.  lie 
was  never  tired  of  painting  it,  or  his  hearers  of  gazing  upon  it. 
But  to-day  he  spoke  with  greater  fulness,  more  clearly,  more 
brilliantly,  more  joyously  than  ever.  Was  the  prophet  really  a 
man  of  seventy  years  and  more?  For  his  mind  was  young — the 
enthusiast,  like  the  poet,  never  grows  old.  His  voice  might  have 
been  the  voice  of  a  boy — a  marvellous  boy — a  Shelley — preach- 
ing the  glories  of  the  world  when  property  should  be  no  more. 

He  ceased,  and  the  vision  which  he  had  raised  quickly  faded 
away.  They  were  back  again  in  the  dingy  old  inn  ;  they  were 
among  the  solicitors  and  the  money-lenders  and  the  young  fel- 
lows who  have  their  chambers  in  the  place.  The  inn  is  about  as 
far  from  the  New  Jerusalem  as  any  place  under  the  sun  ;  it  is 
made  over  bodily  and  belongs — every  stair — every  chamber — to 
the  interests  of  property. 

He  ceased  his  prophecy,  and  began  to  argue,  to  reason,  to  chop 
logic,  which  was  not  by  any  means  so  interesting.     At  last  he 


THE     IVORY    GATE  323 

Stopped  this  as  well.  "Yon  liavc  now,  dear  cliild,"  he  said, 
"heard  quite  as  much  as  you  can  profitably  absorb.  I  have 
noticed  for  the  last  two  or  three  minutes  your  eyes  wandering 
and  your  attention  wearied.  Let  us  stop — only  remember  what 
I  have  just  said  about  the  diseases  of  the  body  politic.  They  are 
akin  to  those  that  affect  the  human  body.  By  coraparino-  the 
two  we  may  learn  not  only  cause,  but  also  effect.  We  have  our 
rheumatisms,  gouts,  asthmas,  neuralgias,  colds  and  coughs,  fevers, 
and  other  ills.  So  has  the  body  politic.  Whence  come  our  dis- 
eases? From  the  ignorance,  the  follies,  the  vices,  the  greed  and 
gluttony  of  our  forefatliers.  So  those  of  the  body  politic.  Take 
away  property,  and  you  destroy  greed.  With  that,  half  the  dis- 
eases vanish." 

Elsie  heard,  and  inclined  her  head.  It  did  occur  to  her  that 
perhaps  property  in  the  body  politic  might  be  represented  by 
food  in  the  body  human,  but  she  forbore.  The  master  was  one 
who  did  not  invite  argument.  Nearly  all  the  great  teachers  of 
the  world,  if  you  think  of  it,  have  conveyed  their  wisdom  in 
maxims  and  aphorisms. 

lie  took  out  his  watch.  "It  is  nearly  four,"  he  said.  "Shall 
we  go  on  to  the  hall  ?" 

"Not  yet.  There  is  no  need  for  us  to  be  there  before  six. 
We  have  two  good  liours  before  us.  Let  ns  use  them  more 
pleasantly  than  in  sitting  alone  in  the  hall— you  must  own  that 
it  is  stuffy.  We  will  talk  about  other  things — about  ourselves — 
not  about  me,  because  I  am  quite  an  insignificant  person,  but 
about  you,  dear  master."  She  was  now  about  to  enter  upon  lier 
plan  of  duplicity.  She  felt  horribly  ashamed,  but  it  had  to  be 
done.  She  strengthened  herself;  she  resolved;  she  suppressed 
the  voice  of  conscience. 

"About  me?"  asked  the  master.  "But  what  is  there  to  talk 
about?" 

"  Oh  !  there  is  ever  so  much."  She  took  his  right  hand  in  her 
own  and  lield  it,  knowing  that  this  little  caress  pleased  and  moved 
him.  "  Master — what  a  wonderful  chance  it  was  that  brought  me 
here !  I  can  never  sufficiently  wonder  at  it.  I  have  told  George 
—George  Austin — my  lover,  you  know  ;  and  Athelstan— he  is  my 
brother."  She  looked  at  him  sharply,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
recognition  of  those  two  names.  Edmund  Gray  had  no  remem- 
brance of  cither.     "  I  have  told  them  about  you,  and  of  your  great 


324  THE    IVORY    GATE 

work,  and  how  you  arc  Icachini;  me,  and  everything.  But  wlicn 
they  ask  me  wlio  you  arc,  where  you  have  lived,  and  all  about 
yon,  I  can  tell  them  nothing.  Oh  !  I  know  it  matters  nothing 
about  me  and  my  own  friends ;  but,  my  dear  master,  we  have  to 
think  of  the  future.  When  the  cause  has  spread,  and  spread,  and 
spread,  till  it  covers  the  whole  world,  people  will  want  to  know 
all  about  the  man  who  first  preached  its  principles.  Who  will  be 
able  to  tell  them  ?  No  one.  You  are  alone ;  you  have  no  wife 
or  children.  Your  name  will  remain  forever  attached  to  tlie 
cause  itself.  I>ut  you — you — the  man — what  will  y<>u  be?  Noth- 
ing. Nothing  but  a  name.  You  ought  to  write  an  autobiog- 
rapliy." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  I  would  do  so" — his  face  became 
troubled ;  "  but— but— " 

"  But  you  arc  always  occupied  with  working  for  the  world. 
You  have  no  time,  of  course.  I  quite  understand  that;  and  it 
wurries  you — docs  it  not? — to  be  called  upon  to  turn  your 
thoughts  from  the  present  back  to  the  past." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it  docs — it  docs.  Elsie,  you  exactly  express  the 
difficulty." 

"  And  yet — you  must  own — you  must  confess — it  is  natural 
for  the  world  to  want  to  know  all  about  you.  Who  was  the 
great  Edmund  Gray  ?  Why,  they  will  want  to  know  every  par- 
ticular— every  single  particular:  where  you  were  born — where 
you  were  educated — who  were  your  masters — what  led  you  to 
the  study  of  humanity  and  its  problems — where  you  lived — if 
you  were  married,  and  to  whom — what  you  read — who  were  your 
friends.  Oh  !  there  is  no  end  to  the  curiosity  of  the  world  about 
their  great  men." 

"  Perhaps."  lie  rose,  and  looked  out  of  tlie  window.  When 
men  are  greatly  pleased  they  must  always  be  moving.  "  I  con- 
fess that  I  have  never  thought  of  these  things  at  all.  Yet,  to  be 
sure — you  are  right."     He  murmured  and  purred. 

"  No,  but  I  have  thought  of  them,  ever  since  I  had  the  happi- 
ness of  being  received  by  you.  Master,  will  you  trust  me?  Shall 
I  become  your  biograplier?  You  cannot  find  one  more  loving. 
You  have  only  to  give  me  the  materials.  Now — let  me  ask  you 
a  few  questions,  just  for  a  beginning — just  to  show  you  the  kind 
of  thing  I  shall  want  to  know." 

He  laughed,  and  sat  down  again.     "  Why,  my  life  has  not  got 


THE    IVORY    GATE  325 

in  it  one  single  solitary  incident  or  episode  or  adventure.  There 
are  no  misfortunes  in  it.  There  is  not  such  a  thing  as  a  disease 
in  it.  I  have  always  been  perfectly  well.  There  is  not  even  a 
love  episode  or  a  flirtation  in  it.  There  are  not  even  any  relig- 
ious difficulties  in  it.  Without  love,  ill-health,  misfortune,  relig- 
ious doubts — where  is  the  interest  in  the  life,  and  what  is  there 
to  tell  ?" 

"  Well,  a  life  that  has  no  incident  in  it  must  be  the  life  of  a 
student.     It  is  only  a  student  who  never  falls  in  love." 

"  Or,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  a  money-getter." 

"  llappily,  there  are  not  many  students,  or  we  women  should 
be  disconsolate  indeed.  Do  you  know,  master,  that  you  can  only 
be  excused  such  a  dreadful  omission  in  your  history  by  that  one 
plea?  Sit  down  again,  master,"  for  again  he  was  walking  about 
restlessly,  partly  disturbed  by  her  questions,  and  partly  flattered 
and  pleased  by  her  reasons.  She  opened  her  note-book,  and  be- 
gan to  ask  questions  about  himself — very  simple  questions,  such 
as  would  not  introduce  any  disturbing  points,  lie  answered 
readily,  and  she  observed  with  interest  that  he  gave  correctly  the 
facts  of  his  own — Edward  Bering's — history. 

He  was  born,  he  said,  in  that  class  which  upholds  property — 
the  better  class — meaning  the  richer.  His  father  was  a  wealthy 
solicitor,  who  lived  in  Bedford  Row.  He  was  born  in  the  year 
1815 — Waterloo  year.  lie  was  the  eldest  of  a  family  of  five — 
three  daughters  and  two  sons.  lie  was  educated  at  Westmin- 
ster. On  leaving  school,  his  father  offered  him  the  advantage  of 
a  university  course,  but  he  refused,  being  anxious  to  begin  as 
early  as  possible  his  life's  work — as  he  thought — in  the  defence 
of  property.  He  was  therefore  articled  to  his  father,  and  at  the 
age  of  twenty-two  he  passed  his  examination  and  was  admitted. 

"  And  then  you  were  young — yon  were  not  yet  a  student — 
you  went  into  society.  You  saw  girls,  and  danced  with  them. 
Yet  you  never  fell  in  love,  and  were  never  married.  How  strange! 
I  thought  everybody  wanted  love.  A  nian's  real  life  onlv  begins, 
I  have  always  been  taught,  with  love  and  marriage.  Love  means 
everything." 

"  To  you,  my  child,  no  doubt  it  does.  Such  as  you  arc  born 
for  love,"  he  added  gallantly.  "Venus  herself  smiles  in  your 
eyes  and  sits  upon  your  lips.  But  as  for  me,  I  was  always  stu- 
dious more  or  less,  though  I  did  not  for  long  find  out  mv  true 


320  THE    IVORY    GATE 

line.  I  worked  hard — I  went  out  very  little.  I  was  cold  by 
nature,  perhaps.  1  had  no  time  to  think  about  sueh  things. 
Now,  wlien  it  is  too  late,  I  regret  the  loss  of  the  experience. 
Doubtless  if  I  had  that  experience  I  should  have  gained  greatly 
in  the  power  of  persuasion.  I  should  have  a  much  more  potent 
influence  over  the  women  among  my  hearers.  If  I  were  a  mar- 
ried man  I  sIkiuM  be  much  more  in  sympathy  with  them." 

"No — n — no — "  Elsie  licsitatcd  a  little.  "  I'erhaps  women — 
cspeciallv  the  younger  kind — get  on  better  with  unmarried  men. 
However,  you  were  not  niarried." 

"At  first,  then,  I  was  a  solicitor  with  my  father.  Then — pres- 
ently—  "     His  face  put  on  the  troubled  look  again. 

"You  continued,"  Elsie  interrupted  quickly,  "to  work  at  your 
profession,  though  you  took  up  other  studies?" 

"  No,  no — not  fjuite  that." 

"You  began  to  take  up  social  problems,  and  gradually  aban- 
doned your  profession  ?" 

"  No,  no — not  that  cither — quite." 

"  You  found  you  could  not  reconcile  your  conscience  any  longer 
to  defending  property  ?" 

"  No — I  forget  exactly.  It  is  strange  that  one  sliould  forget  a 
thing  so  simple.  I  am  growing  old,  I  suppose.  Well — it  mat- 
ters not.  I  left  the  profession.  That  is  the  only  important  thing 
to  remember.  That  I  did  so,  these  chambers  prove.  I  came  out 
of  it.  Yes,  that  was  it.  Just  at  the  moment,  my  head  being  full  of 
other  things,  I  cannot  remember  the  exact  time  or  the  manner  of 
my  leaving  the  profession.  I  forget  the  circumstances,  probably 
because  I  attached  so  little  importance  to  it.  The  real  point  is 
that  I  came  out  of  it  and  gave  myself  up  to  these  studies." 

She  noted  this  important  point  carefully,  and  looked  up  for  more. 

"There,  my  dear  child,  is  my  whole  life  for  you — without  an 
incident  or  an  episode.  I  was  born  ;  I  went  to  school ;  I  became 
a  solicitor;  I  gave  up  my  profession;  I  studied  social  economy; 
I  made  mv  great  discovery  ;  I  preached  it.  Then — did  I  say  my 
life  was  without  an  episode  and  without  love?  No,  no — I  was 
wrong.  My  daughter — I  have  at  last  found  love  and  a  child — 
and  a  disciple.     What  more  have  I  to  ask  ?" 

"  My  master!"  No  daughter  could  be  more  in  sympathy  with 
him  than  this  girl. 

"  It  is  all  most  valuable  and  interesting,"  she  saiil,  "  though  the 


THE    IVORY    GATE  327 

facts  are  so  few.  Books  will  be  written,  in  tlic  future,  on  these 
facts,  which  will  be  filled  out  with  conjecture  and  inference.  Even 
the  things  that  you  think  of  so  little  importance  will  be  made  the 
subject  of  comment  and  criticism.  "Well — but  my  biography  of 
you  will  be  the  first  and  best  and  most  important.  I  shall  first 
make  a  skeleton  life  out  of  the  facts,  and  then  fill  in  the  flesh  and 
blood,  and  put  on  the  clothes,  and  present  you,  dear  master,  just 
as  you  are." 

"Ask  me  what  you  will,  but  not  too  often.  It  worries  rae  to 
remember  the  past.  My  dear,  I  am  like  a  man  wlio  has  made 
himself — who  has  risen  from  the  gutter.  lie  cannot  deny  the 
fact,  but  he  doesn't  like  to  be  talking  about  it ;  and  he  is  insulted 
if  any  one  charges  him  with  the  fact,  or  alludes  to  it  in  any  way 
in  his  presence.  That  is  my  case  exactly.  I  have  made  myself. 
I  have  raised  myself  from  the  gutter — the  gutter  of  property.  I 
actually  worked  in  defence  of  property  till  I  was  sixty  years  old 
and  more.  Now  I  am  rather  ashamed  of  that  fact.  I  do  not 
deny  it — you  must  put  it  into  your  biography — but  I  do  not  like 
talking  about  it." 

"You  were  once  a  solicitor,  and  you  are  now  a  prophet.  "What 
a  leap  !  What  a  wonderful  leap  !  I  quite  understand.  Yet  some- 
times, now  and  then,  for  the  sake  of  the  curious,  impertinent 
world,  look  back  and  tell  me  wliat  you  see." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  am  so  absorbed  in  my  work  that  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  remember  things.  Why,  Elsie,  day  after  day, 
from  morning  to  evening,  I  sit  here  at  work.  And  in  the  even- 
ing I  remember  nothing  of  the  flight  of  time.  The  hours  strike, 
but  I  hear  them  not.  Only  the  books  on  the  table  show  what 
has  been  my  occupation.  Ami  you  want  me  to  go  back,  not  to 
yesterday,  but  ten,  twenty,  thirty  years  ago.  My  dear  child,  I 
cannot.  Some  of  the  past  is  clear  to  me — a  day  here  and  there  I 
remember  clearly.  All  my  evenings  at  the  Hall  of  Science ;  my 
lessons  with  you — those  I  remember.  But  to  recall  days  passed 
in  meditation  and  absorbing  study  is  not  possible.  No,  no — I 
cannot  even  try." 

He  spoke  with  a  little  distress,  as  if  the  very  thought  of  tlie 
necessary  effort  troubled  him. 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  master,"  said  Elsie,  "  I  would  not  vex 
you.  Only  for  some  of  the  things  which  you  do  remember.  For 
instance,  the  world  always  wants  to  know  about  the  private  fort- 


328  TnE    IVORY    GATE 

unes  of  its  great  men.  Your  own  affairs,  you  told  mc  once,  are 
in  the  hands  of  a — Mr. — Mr. — what  is  his  name  ?" 

"Dcrini^ — Dering.  A  very  well-known  solicitor.  Ills  office  is 
in  New  Square,  Lincoln's  Inn — he  mana<Tos  my  money  matters. 
I  am,  I  believe,  what  the  world  calls  wealthy." 

"  That  gives  you  independence  and  the  power  of  working  for 
humanity,  does  it  not?" 

"  It  does,"  said  the  scourge  and  destroyer  of  property,  uncon- 
scious of  the  incongruity.  "  Dering,  my  solicitor,  is,  I  believe,  a 
very  honest  man.  Narrow  in  his  views — wedded  to  the  old  scliool 
— quite  unable  to  sec  the  advance  of  the  tide.  But  trustworthy. 
He  belongs  to  a  tribe  whiih  is  indispensable  so  long  as  property 
is  suffered  to  exist." 

"Yes — only  so  long.  Property  and  lawyers  will  go  out  liand 
in  liand." 

"  And  magistrates,"  lie  added,  with  enthusiasm.  "  And  courts 
of  justice  and  prisons.  And  criminals,  because  the  chief  incentive 
to  crime  will  be  destroyed.  What  a  glorious  world  without  a  law, 
or  a  lawyer,  or  a  policeman  !" 

"  Mr.  Dering,  is  it?  Why,  my  dear  master,  I  know  something 
about  Mr.  Dering.  My  brother  Athelstan  was  articled  to  him.  lie 
became  a  managing  clerk  for  him.  Then  there  was  trouble  about 
a  check.  Something  was  wrong  about  it.  He  was  unjustly 
blamed  or  suspected,  and  he  left  the  house.  I  wonder,  now, 
whether  you  could  throw  any  light  upon  that  business  of  the 
check  ?" 

"  I,  my  dear  child  ?  A  single  solitary  check  at  a  lawyer's  office  ? 
IIow  should  I  possibly  know  anything  about  it?" 

"  Oh  I  but  you  might  remember  this  check,  because,  now  I 
think  of  it,  your  own  name  was  connected  with  it.  Yes — it  was. 
I  am  certain  it  was.  The  check  was  drawn  in  March,  in  the  year 
1883 — a  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  payable  to 
vour  order — the  order  of  Edmund  Gray." 

"  A  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  ?  In  March, 
1883?  That  must  have  been —  Yes,  yes — that  was  about  the 
time.  Now,  this  is  really  most  remarkable,  child,  most  remarka- 
ble that  you  should  actually  hit  upon  a  check — one  of  thousands 
issued  from  that  office — which  I  should  remember  perfectly.  Life 
is  full  of  coincidences — one  is  always  hearing  odd  things  said, 
meeting  faces  which  one  knows.     Well,  it  is  most  remarkable, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  329 

because  I  received  a  check  for  lliat  very  amount  at  that  very  time 
from  Bering.  Oh  !  I  remember  perfectly.  It  was  wlien  I  had  a 
scheme.  I  thouglit  it  then — being  younger  than  I  am  now — a  very 
good  scheme  indeed.  It  was  intended  for  the  gradual  destruction 
of  property.  I  did  not  understand  at  that  time  so  fully  as  I  do 
now  the  rising  of  the  tide  and  the  direction  of  the  current  which 
is  steadily  advancing  to  overwhelm  property  without  any  feeble 
efforts  on  ray  part.  Yet  my  scheme  was  good  so  far  as  it  went, 
and  it  might  have  been  started  with  good  effect,  but  for  the  apathy 
of  the  workers.  You  see,  they  were  not  educated  up  to  it.  I  had 
already  begun  upon  my  scheme  by  advancing  to  certain  working- 
men  suras  which  should  make  them  independent  of  their  em- 
ployers until  they  should  have  produced  enough  to  sell  directly, 
without  the  aid  of  an  employer,  at  their  own  co-operative  stores. 
Unfortunately,  most  of  them  drank  tlie  money ;  the  few  who 
used  it  properly,  instead  of  backing  up  their  fellow-workmen,  be- 
came themselves  employers,  and  are  now  wealthy.  Well,  I  thought 
I  would  extend  this  method.  I  thought  that  if  I  got  together  a 
chosen  band — say,  of  seventy  or  so — and  if,  after  teaching  them 
and  educating  them  a  bit,  I  gave  them,  say,  ten  pounds  apiece,  to 
tide  them  over  the  first  few  weeks,  that  I  might  next  open  a  dis- 
tributive and  co-operative  store  for  them,  and  so  take  the  first  step 
to  abolishing  the  middle-man — the  man  of  trade." 

"  I  sec ;  and  so  you  drew  the  money  for  that  purpose." 

"Yes.  But,  as  I  told  you,  I  was  obliged  to  abandon  my 
scheme.  The  men  were  not  sufficiently  advanced.  They  listened; 
they  professed  great  willingness  to  receive  the  money  ;  but  they 
gave  me  no  encouragement  to  hope  that  they  would  carry  out  my 
plan.  So  it  fell  through.  And  the  men  remain  to  this  day  with 
their  employers.  And  so — you  sec — I  never  used  the  money.  I 
remember  that  I  had  the  check  cashed  in  ten-pound  notes  for  the 
purpose." 

"  What  became  of  the  notes?" 

"  I  don't  know.  They  are  in  the  bank,  I  suppose — wandering 
about  the  world.     I  gave  them  back  to  Dering." 

"Oh  !  my  dear  master" — Elsie  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  laid  a 
sheet  of  paper  on  the  table — "this  is  most  providential,  I  can- 
not tell  you  what  a  dreadful  cause  of  trouble  this  check  has  been 
to  us.  It  has  half  ruined  my  brother's  life.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
write  it  all  down  for  me.    Quick  !  quick  !  before  you  forget  it  all." 


330  THE    IVOKY    GATE 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

PLENARY    CONFESSION — (Continuftf) 

"  I  SHALL  not  forj^et  it.  Nevertheless,  Elsie,  if  a  statement 
of  the  facts  can  be  of  any  uso  to  you" — he  changed  his  seat 
and  took  np  the  pen — "certainly  I  will  write  it  for  you." 

"I  am  requested,"  he  wrote,  "by  Miss  I'^l.sie  Arundel,  my 
scholar,  to  state  wliat  I  know  of  a  certain  transaction  which  took 
place  in  March,  1883.  The  facts  are  as  fc^llows:  I  had  need  of  a 
sum  of  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds.  For  certain  purposes 
I  wanted  it  in  ten-pound  notes.  I  asked  my  ai^eiit,  Mr.  Doriiii,', 
to  give  me  a  check;  and  as  I  thought  that  I  should  want  the 
money  immediately,  perhaps  in  an  liour  or  so,  I  asked  liim 
to  make  it  payable  to  my  order,  and  not  to  cross  the  check. 
lie  drew  the  check,  and  gave  it  to  mc  in  his  oflice.  I  then 
went  to  the  hotel  where  I  was  stopping — a  place  in  Norfolk 
Street,  Strand,  and  sent  a  commissionnaire  to  the  bank  for  the 
money.  He  brought  it,  as  I  had  requested,  in  ten-pound  notes. 
In  a  few  days  I  discovered  that  my  plan  could  not  be  even  com- 
menced without  the  greatest  danger  of  defeating  its  own  object. 
I  therefore  took  the  notes  to  Mr.  Bering's  office,  and  placed  them 
in  liis  safe.  I  suppose  that  lie  has  long  since  returned  them  to 
the  bank." 

"There,  child,"  he  said,  reading  the  statement  aloud.  "That 
is  what  I  recollect  about  the  matter," 

"Sign  it."  Elsie  gave  him  the  pen  again.  "Sign  it,  dear 
master!  Oh!  thanks — thanks  a  thousand  times!  You  don't 
know — oh!  you  will  never  know  or  understand — I  hope — how 
precious  this  document  will  be  for  me  " — she  folded  the  paper  in 
an  envelope,  and  placed  it  in  lier  hand-bag — "  and  for  my  people 
— my  brother  and  all.  Oh  !  my  dear  master!"  She  stooped  and 
kissed  liis  liand,  to  hide  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  Athelstan's  name 
was  safe  now,  whatever  happened.  lie  would  be  completely 
cleared  at  last. 


THE    IVOKY   GATE  331 

"  Why,  my  dear  scholar — my  dear  daug-liter."  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray  was  moved  himself  almost  to  tears  at  this  unexpected  burst 
of  feeling,  "  As  if  there  was  anything  I  would  not  do  for  you 
if  I  could.  I,  who  have  never  loved  any  woman  before,  love  one 
now.  She  is  my  daughter — my  grandchild.  So  your  brother 
■will  be  helped  by  this  little  reminiscence — will  he?  Actually, 
your  brother!  I  wonder  if  there  is  anything  more  that  I  could 
remember  for  you  in  this  uneventful  life  of  n)ine." 

"  Oh  no  ! — that  would  be  too  mucli  to  hope.  Yet  there  is  a 
chance — just  a  chance.  I  wonder  if  I  may  tell  you.  There  is 
still  time  before  us.  If  we  are  at  the  hall  by  six  wo  shall  do 
very  well.  It  is  no  more  than  half-past  four.  Shall  I  tell  you 
the  trouble  !  Oh  !  But  it  is  a  shame.  And  you  with  this  great 
work  laid  upon  you  !  No,  no — I  must  not."  Oh  !  Delilah  !  oh ! 
Circe !  for  she  looked  as  if,  in  spite  of  her  unwilling  words,  she 
wanted  to  tell  it  very  badly  indeed. 

"  Nay,  my  dear.  You  must,  and  you  shall.  What?  You  are 
in  trouble,  and  you  will  not  tell  me  what  it  is?  You — my  scholar 
— my  clear-eyed  disciple,  who  can  see  what  these  dull  creatures 
of  clay  around  us  can  never  understand — you  are  in  trouble, 
and  you  hesitate  to  tell  me?  Fie!  fie!  Speak  now.  Tell  me 
all." 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  have  a  lover,  and  that  I  am  engaged  to 
be  married." 

"  Yes,  yes.  Ilis  name,  too,  you  have  told  me.  It  is  George 
— George  Austin.  There  were  Austins  once — I  seem  to  remember 
— but  that  does  not  matter." 

"  We  are  to  be  married  on  "Wednesday." 

"So  soon?  But  you  have  promised  that  I  shall  not  lose  my 
pupil  ?" 

"  No,  dear  master.  As  soon  as  we  come  back  from  our  holi- 
day I  will  come  and  see  you  again  and  learn  of  you.  Do  not 
doubt  that.  I  can  never  a^ain  let  you  go  out  of  my  life.  I  shall 
bring  my — my  husband  with  me." 

"  If  I  thought  your  marriage  would  take  you  away  from  me, 
I  should  be  the  most  unhappy  of  men.  But  I  will  spare  you  for 
a  month — two  months — as  long  as  you  please.  Now,  tell  me 
what  is  on  your  mind." 

"George  was  one  of  Mr.  Dcring's  managing  clerks — your  Mr. 
Dcring,  you  know."     Mr.  Edmund  Gray  nodded  gravely.     '*  Uc 


332  THE    IVORY    GATE 

had  no  money  when  we  were  engaged,  and  we  thought  that  we 
were  going  to  be  quite  a  poor  and  liuinblc  pair.  But  a  great 
piece  of  good  fortune  happened  to  him,  for  Mr.  Dering  made 
him  a  partner." 

"  Did  he?  Very  hicky  for  your  friend.  But  I  always  tliought 
tliat  Dering  ought  to  have  a  partner.  At  his  ago  it  was  only 
prudent — necessary,  even." 

"  So  we  were  made  very  happy,  and  I  tliought  wc  were  the 
luckiest  couple  in  the  world.  But  just  then  there  was  a  discov- 
ery made  at  the  office — a  very  singular  discovery — I  hardly 
know  how  to  describe  it,  because  it  is  not  quite  clear  to  me  even 
yet.  It  was  concerned  with  the  buying  or  selling  or  transfer  of 
certain  stocks  and  shares  and  coupons,  and  that  kind  of  thing. 
Mr.  Dering  seems  not  to  remember  having  signed  the  papers  con- 
cerned. There  is  a  fear  that  they  arc  in  wrong  hands.  There  is 
susj)icion  of  forgery,  even.  I  am  ashamed  even  to  mention  such 
a  thing  to  you,  but  my  lover's  name  has  been  connected  with 
the  business;  and  Mr.  Dering's  clerk,  Chcckley — you  know  Check- 
ley  ?— " 

"  Certainly — Dering's  old  servant." 

"  Has  openly  charged  George — on  no  evidence,  to  be  sure — 
of  having  forged  the  letters,  or  of  having  assisted  in  the  forgery." 

"  This  is  very  serious." 

"  It  is  very  serious,  but  we  do  not  intend  to  let  the  thing 
interfere  with  our  wedding.  Only,  unless  I  can  remove  the  last 
ray  of  suspicion  before  Wednesday,  wc  shall  spend  our  honey- 
moon at  home,  in  order  to  watch  the  case  from  day  to  day." 

"  Buying  or  selling  stocks  ?  Dering  would  be  constantly  doing 
that." 

"  It  appears  that  these  transactions  were  the  only  things  of  the 
kind  that  he  has  done  this  year.  That  is  to  say,  he  denies  having 
done  these." 

"  Well — as  for  these  having  been  tlic  only  transactions  of  the 
kind,  he  managed  a  good  bit  of  such  business  for  me  this  last 
spring." 

"  Did  he  ?     Do  you  remember  the  details  of  that  business?" 

"Clearly.     It  was  only  yesterday,  so  to  speak." 

"  Was  it  the  purchase  or  transfer  of  stock  or  shares  ?" 

"Certainly.  To  a  very  large  amount.  I  have  told  you  about 
my  industrial  village,  have  I  not  ?     The  village  where  all  arc  to 


THE    IVORY    GATE  333 

be  equal — all  are  to  work  for  a  certain  time  every  day,  and  no 
longer — all  are  to  be  paid  in  rations  and  clothes  and  houses,  and 
there  is  to  be  no  private  property — my  ideal  village." 

"  I  know.     A  lovely  village." 

"  It  was  early  in  the  spring  that  I  finished  my  designs  for  it. 
Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  well  if,  instead  of  always 
going  to  my  lawyer  for  money,  I  had  a  large  sum  at  my  com- 
mand lying  at  my  bank.  So  I  instructed  Bering  to  transfer  to 
my  name  a  great  quantity  of  stocks  lying  in  his  name.  lie  was 
a  trustee  or  a — well — it  is  rather  unusual,  but  I  like  having  all 
ray  business  affairs  managed  for  me,  and —  But  this  will  not  in- 
terest you" — this  with  the  look  of  irritation  or  bewilderment 
which  sometimes  passed  over  his  face.  "  The  important  thing 
is  that  it  was  done,  and  that  my  bank  received  those  transfers, 
and  has  instructions  to  receive  the  dividends." 

"  Oh  1     And  has  all  the  papers,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  It  had  them.  But  I  thought  that  perhaps  ray  old  friend 
might  think  it  looked  like  want  of  confidence  if  I  left  them  there, 
so  I  sent  for  them,  and  took  them  to  his  office.  They  are  now  in 
the  safe.  I  put  them  there  myself  with  ray  own  hand,  or  he  did 
with  his  own  hand — I  forget.  Sometimes — it  is  very  odd — when 
I  think  of  things  done  at  that  office  I  seem  to  have  done  it  myself, 
and  sometimes  I  think  that  he  did  it.     Not  that  it  matters." 

"  Not  at  all.     The  papers  are  actually  in  the  safe  again  V 

"  Certainly.     I — that  is — he — he  or  I — put  them  tliere.'' 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  master  " — Elsie  clapped  her  hands — "  this  is 
even  more  important  than  the  other.  Yon  do  not  know — you 
cannot  guess — what  mischiefs  you  are  able  to  stop.  If  I  had 
only  been  able  to  talk  to  you  about  these  things  before  !  The 
paper  you  have  already  written  is  for  ray  brother.  Now  sit  down, 
ray  master,  and  write  another  that  will  do  for  roe." 

"  I  will  do  anything  you  ask  me — and  everything.  But  as  for 
this,  why  not  ask  Dering  ?  llis  memory  never  fails.  His  mind 
is  like  a  box  which  holds  everything  and  can  never  be  filled. 
Perhaps  he  would  not  like  these  private  affairs — as  between  solic- 
itor and  client — to  be  talked  about." 

"  We  cannot  go  to  Mr.  Dering.  There  are  certain  reasons 
which  would  not  interest  you.  All  we  want  is  a  clear,  straight- 
forward statement,  an  exact  statement,  of  what  happened.  Sit 
down  now  and  write  me  a  full  account  of  each  transaction." 


334  THE    IVOUY    GATE 

"  Certainly ;  if  it  will  be  of  tlic  least  use  to  you." 

"  Early  in  the  present  year,"  he  began,  "  I  found  that  my  plan 
of  an  industrial  village,  if  it  was  to  be  carried  into  effect,  would 
want  all  the  money  I  could  command.  It  occurred  to  me  that  it 
would  be  well  to  transfer  a  certain  sum  from  the  liands  of  my 
agent,  and  to  place  it  in  my  own  bank  ready  to  hand.  I  began 
then,  in  March,  with  a  sum  of  six  thonsan<l  pounds,  which 
Dcring,  by  my  instructions,  handed  over  to  my  bank  in  the  form 
of  shares  and  stocks.  I  believe  they  were  transfers  of  certain 
stocks  held  by  him  in  liis  own  name,  but  forming  part  of  my 
fortune — my  largo  private  fortune.  The  bank  was  instructed  to 
receive  the  dividends  in  that  sum.  A  month  or  so  later  I  ob- 
tained from  Bering  other  stock  to  the  value  of  twelve  thousand 
pounds,  the  papers  of  which  were  also  given  to  my  bank.  And 
after  that  I  took  out  papers  representing  twenty  thousand  pounds; 
so  that  I  had  in  my  hands,  ready  to  be  sold  out  and  used  at  a 
moment's  notice,  no  less  than  thirty-eight  thousand  pounds.  All 
this  money  I  intended  to  devote  to  my  industrial  village.  The 
scheme  is  still  one  in  which  I  put  my  wliolo  confidence.  But  it 
has  not  yet  been  carried  into  effect,  in  consequence  of  the  difli- 
culty  of  finding  working-men  eijual  to  the  situation.  They  undcr- 
fitand  working  for  the  nian  who  has  the  money  ;  they  do  not 
understand  working  for  the  man  who  has  none — that  is,  for  each 
other  and  for  themselves.  For  my  own  part,  I  could  only  find 
working-men  of  that  stamp.  Perhaps  I  am  too  much  in  the 
study.  I  do  not  go  about  enough  among  working-men.  There 
must  be  some  advanced  to  my  stage  of  development.  Well,  for 
want  of  men,  I  could  not  start  my  village,  and  I  have  not  used 
the  money.  As  for  the  papers,  I  have  taken  them  out  of  the 
bank  and  placed  them  in  Dering's  safe." 

Elsie  looked  over  his  shoulder,  reading  every  word.  "  The 
letters  which  Mr.  Dering  wrote  to  the  stock-broker  in  accordance 
with  your  instructions.  They  were  written  for  him — perhaps — 
by  you.     It  is  unusual,  but — " 

"  I  told  you,"  he  replied  sharply.  "  Wiiat  is  the  use  of  saying 
things  twice?  There  are  some  things  which  confuse  a  man.  I 
wrote  them — he  wrote  them — he  acted  for  me — or  I  acted  for 
myself.  What  matter?  The  end  is  as  I  have  written  down  for 
you.     Now,  will  this  paper  be  of  any  use  to  you?" 

"  Of  the  greatest  use.     Please  sign  it,  dear  master." 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  335 

lie  obeyed,  and  signed  "  Edmund  Gray." 

"  There  is  one  thing  more."  Elsie  saw  in  his  face  signs  of 
disquiet,  and  hastened  on.  "  You  have  got  your  bank-book 
here?" 

"Yes.  The  manager  sent  it  licre  witli  an  impertinent  note 
about  references,  whicli  I  have  sent  on  to  ]J)ering.  Wliat  do  you 
want  with  the  bank-book  ?  It  is  in  one  of  those  drawers.  See 
— here  it  is — check-book  too." 

"  If  I  were  you,  master,  I  would  liave  no  more  trouble  about 
the  money.  You  have  given  Mr.  Dering  the  transfers  and  papers 
— why  not  give  him  back  the  money  as  well  ?  Do  not  be 
bothered  with  money-matters.  It  is  of  all  things  important  to 
you  to  be  free  from  all  kinds  of  business  and  money-matters. 
Wlio  ever  heard  of  a  prophet  drawing  a  check  ?  You  sit  liere, 
and  work  and  meditate.  You  go  to  the  Ilall  of  Science,  and 
teach.  It  is  the  business  of  your  friends  to  see  that  all  your 
necessities  are  properly  supplied.  Now,  if  you  will  in  these  minor 
matters  suffer  your  friends  to  advise — " 

"  Surely.     I  ask  for  nothing  else." 

"  Then,  dear  master,  here  is  your  check-book,  and  here  your 
bank-book.  Draw  a  check,  payable  to  the  order  of  Edward 
Dering,  for  all  the  money  that  is  lying  here — I  see  it  is  seven 
hundred  and  twenty-three  pounds  five  shillings  and  threepence. 
I  will  take  care  of  the  check — so.  Oh  !  you  have  signed  Edward 
Dering — careless  master  !  Draw  another — now  sign  it  Edmund 
Gray.  That  will  do.  And  you  had  better  at  the  same  time  write 
a  letter  to  the  bank,  asking  the  manager  in  future  to  receive  the 
dividends  for  the  account  of  Mr.  Dering.  I  will  write  the  letter, 
and  you  shall  sign  it.  Now — no,  no — not  Edward  Dering — 
Edmund  Gray.  Your  thoughts  are  wandering.  There !  Now, 
dear  master,  you  arc  free  from  everything  that  might  trouble 
you." 

The  master  pushed  back  the  blotting-pad  with  impatience,  and 
rose  from  the  chair.  Elsie  took  possession  of  the  signed  checks, 
the  check-book,  the  bank-book,  and  the  letter.  She  had  all — the 
statement  in  Ednuind  Gray's  own  handwriting — all — all — that 
was  wanted  to  clear  up  the  business  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end.  She  put  everything  together  in  her  hand-bag.  She  glanced 
at  her  companion  ;  she  perceived  tliat  liis  face  was  troubled.  "I 
wish,"  he  said   fretfully,  "  that  you   had  not  worried  me  with 


336  THE    IVORY    GATE 

those  questions  about  the  past.  They  disturb  me.  The  current 
of  mv  tlioughts  is  clicckcd.  I  am  full  of  Bering  and  iiis  ofFicc 
and  his  safe — his  safe — and  all — " 

Elsie  trembled.  His  face  was  changing — in  a  minute  he  would 
have  returned  to  Mr.  Bering,  and  she  would  have  had  to  explain. 
"Master,"  she  cried,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "think.  We 
are  going  to  the  Hall  of  Science — your  Hall  of  Science — yours. 
The  people  arc  waiting  for  their  prophet.  You  are  to  address 
them.  To-night  you  must  surpass  yourself,  because  there  arc 
strangers  coming.  Tell  us — once  again — all  over  again — of  that 
world  where  there  is  no  crime,  no  suffering,  no  ini^iuity,  no  sin, 
no  sorrow — where  there  arc  no  poor  creatures  deprived  by  a  cruel 
social  order  of  liberty,  of  leisure,  of  comfort,  of  virtue,  of  every- 
thing— poor  wretches  born  only  to  toil  and  to  endure.  Think  of 
them.  Speak  for  them.  Tlan  for  them.  Make  our  hearts  burn 
within  us  for  shame  and  rage.  Oh  !  master  " — for  his  face  was 
troubled  still  and  doubtful,  as  if  he  were  hovering  on  the  border- 
land between  himself  and  his  other  self — "  no  one  can  speak  to 
them  like  you  ;  no  one  has  yuur  power  of  speech  ;  make  tlicm 
feel  that  new  world — make  them  see  it — actually  see  it  with  their 
earthly  eyes — make  them  feel  it  in  their  hearts." 

"Child" — he  siglied;  his  face  fell  back  into  repose — "you 
comfort  me.  I  was  falling — before  you  came  to  me  I  used  often 
to  fall — into  a  fit  of  gloom — I  don't  know  why.  Something 
irritates  me;  something  jars;  something  awakens  a  feeling  as  if 
I  ouijht  to  remember — remember — what?  I  do  not  know.  lam 
better  now.  Your  voice,  my  dear,  at  such  a  moment  is  to  me 
like  the  sound  of  Bavid's  harp  to  Saul.  It  chases  away  the 
shadows.  Oh  !  I  am  better  already.  I  am  well.  If  you  want  to 
ask  any  other  questions,  do  so.  As  for  those  transactions — they 
are  perfectly  correct  in  form  and  everything.  I  cannot  for  the 
life  of  me  understand  why  Bering,  who  is  a  practical  man — " 

"  Never  mind  Bering,  ray  dear  master — or  those  transactions. 
Think  only  of  the  world  of  the  New  Humanity.  Leave  the 
transactions  and  the  papers  to  me.  I  hope  that  you  will  never 
find  out  why  they  were  wanted,  or  how  they  were  to  be  used. 
Now  let  us  start.     We  shall  be  in  excellent  time." 

The  Hall  of  Science  was  half  full  of  people — the  usual  gather- 
ing— those  who  came  every  Sunday  evening  and  took  the  simple 
feast  of  fraternity.     The  table  was  spread  with  the  white  cloth, 


THE    IVORY    GATE  337 

on  which  were  laid  out  the  toast  and  muffins,  the  ham  and 
shrimps,  and  bread  and  butter  and  watercrcsses ;  and  on  the 
appearance  of  tlie  chief  the  tea  was  broutflit  up,  and  they  all  sat 
down.  Now,  it  had  been  observed  by  all  that  since  the  adhesion 
of  this  young  lady  the  leader's  discourses  had  been  much  more 
confident,  his  manner  had  been  clearer,  his  points  more  forcibly 
put.  This  was  because,  for  the  first  time,  he  had  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  discussing  his  own  doctrines  with  a  mind  able  to  follow 
him.  Nothing  so  valuable  to  a  teacher  of  new  things  as  a  sym- 
pathetic woman  for  listener  and  disciple.  Witness  the  leadinof 
example  of  the  Prophet  Mohammed.  Also,  their  leader  had 
never  before  been  so  cheerful — so  hopeful — so  full  of  life  and 
youth  and  spring.  lie  was  young  again  ;  he  talked  like  a  young 
man,  though  his  hair  was  gray.  This  was  because  he  loved  a 
woman,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life;  he  called  it  paternal  affec- 
tion ;  whatever  kind  of  love  it  was,  it  worked  in  him  the  same 
miracle  that  love  always  works  in  man — young  or  old — it  gave 
him  back  the  fire  of  youth. 

This  evening  he  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  dispensing  his 
simple  hospitality  with  a  geniality  and  a  heartiness  unknown  be- 
fore the  arrival  of  this  young  lady.  He  talked,  meantime,  in  the 
lofty  vein,  above  the  style  and  manner  common  to  his  hearers, 
but  not  above  their  comprehension  ;  he  spoke  of  a  hiofher  life 
attainable  by  man  at  his  best,  when  the  victory  over  nature 
should  be  complete,  and  every  force  should  be  subdued  and  made 
slave  to  man,  and  all  diseases  should  be  swept  away,  and  the  per- 
fect man  should  stand  upon  the  earth  at  last,  lord  and  master  of 
all — Adamus  Redivivus.  When  that  time  should  come  there 
would  be  no  property,  of  course  ;  everything  was  to  be  in  com- 
mon ;  but  the  new  life  would  be  full  of  love  and  joy ;  there 
would  be  long-continued  youth,  so  that  none  should  be  made  to 
rise  from  the  feast  unsatisfied  ;  nay,  it  seemed  to  this  dreamer 
that  every  one  should  continue  at  the  feast  as  long  as  he  pleased, 
till  he  was  satiated  and  desired  a  change.  Long-continued  youth  ; 
all  were  to  be  young  and  to  keep  young ;  the  girls  were  to  be 
beautiful  and  the  men  strong ;  he  pronounced — he — the  hermit 
— the  anchorite — the  celibate  who  knew  not  love — a  eulo^-y  on 
the  beauty  of  women ;  and  he  mourned  over  those  men  who  miss 
their  share  of  love. 

The  hearts  of  those  who  heard  were  uplifted,  for  this  man  had 
15 


388  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  mesmeric  faculty  of  compelling  those  who  heard  him  to  feel 
what  he  wanted  them  to  feel.  Most  of  them  had  been  accustomed 
to  regard  their  leader  as  a  man  of  benevolent  manners  but  austere 
principles.  Now  he  was  tender  and  human,  full  of  svinpathy 
even  with  those  weak  vessels  who  fall  in  love,  and  for  the  sake 
of  love  arc  content  to  be  all  their  lives  slaves — yea,  even  slaves 
to  property. 

After  tea,  the  tables  being  cleared,  the  chief  pronounced  his 
weekly  address  or  sermon.  It  was  generally  a  discourse  on  the 
principles,  which  all  professed,  of  equality  and  the  abolition  of 
property.  To-night,  he  carried  on  the  theme  on  which  ho  had 
spoken  at  tea-time,  and  discoursed  on  the  part  which  should  be 
played  by  love  in  the  New  Humanity.  Never  before  had  he 
spoken  so  convincingly.  Never  had  orator  an  audience  more  in 
sympathy  with  him. 

Sliurtly  after  the  beginning  of  the  address,  there  arrived  two 
gentlemen,  young  and  well  dressed,  who  sat  down  modestly,  just 
within  the  door,  and  listened.  The  people  turned,  and  looked  at 
them  with  interest.  They  were  not  quite  the  kind  of  young  man 
peculiar  to  the  street  or  to  the  quarter. 

AVhen  the  lecture  was  over,  and  the  audience  crowded  together 
to  talk  before  they  separated,  Elsie  slipped  across  to  the  new- 
comers, and  led  them  to  the  lecturer.  "  Master,"  she  said,  "  this 
is  my  brother  Athelstan." 

Mr.  Edmund  Gray  shook  hands  with  him.  "  Why,  Elsie,"  he 
said,  "  your  brother  and  I  have  met  already  in  Gray's  Inn." 

"  And  this  is  my  friend  George  Austin,  partner  of  Mr.  Dering." 

*'  Mr.  Austin,"  said  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  "  I  am  glad  to  meet  the 
man  who  is  about  to  enter  into  the  most  sacred  of  all  bonds  with 
one  whom  I  venture  to  love,  sir,  as  much  as  you  yourself  can  do, 
though  I  love  her  as  my  daughter,  and  yon  love  her  as  your  bride. 
You  will  be  the  happiest  of  men.  Take  care,  sir,  that  you  deserve 
your  happiness." 

"  This  day,"  said  Elsie,  "  you  have  rendered  us  all  such  a  ser- 
vice as  can  never  be  acknowledged  or  repaid  or  forgotten.  Yet 
we  hope  and  pray  that  somehow  you  will  never  understand  how 
great  it  is." 


TUE    IVORY    GATE  339 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

LE     CONSEIL     DE     FAMILLE 

"  CiiECKLEY,"  said  Mr.  Dering  on  Monday  morning,  "  here  is  a 
note  from  Miss  Elsie  Arundel.  She  makes  an  appointment  with 
me  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon.  Keep  me  free  for  that  hour. 
Her  brother  Athclstan  is  coming  with  her.  Wliat's  the  matter, 
man  ?" 

"It's  coming,  then.  I  knew  it  would  come."  Chcckley 
groaned.     "  It's  all  over  at  last." 

"  What  is  all  over  ?" 

"Everything.  But  don't  you  believe  it.  Tell  'em  it's  a  lie 
made  up  to  screen  themselves.  They  can't  prove  it.  Nobody 
can  prove  it.  I'll  back  you  up.  Only  don't  you  believe  it.  Mind 
— it  is  a  lie — a  made-up  lie." 

"I  don't  know  what  has  been  the  matter  with  you  for  the  last 
day  or  two,  Chcckley.  What  am  I  not  to  believe?  What  is  a 
lie?     Who  is  making  up  a  lie  which  cannot  be  proved?" 

"  Oh  !  I  can't  say  the  word — I  can't.  It's  all  over  at  last — at 
last."  He  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  slammed  the  door  behind 
him. 

"My  dear  mother" — Hilda  drove  to  Pcmbridge  S(]uare  direct- 
ly after  breakfast — ■"  I  have  had  a  most  curious  letter  from  Elsie. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  She  orders — she  does  not  invite — she  posi- 
tively orders — Sir  Samuel — actually  orders  Sir  Samuel ! — and  my- 
self to  attend  at  Mr.  Bering's  office  at  four.  We  are  ordered  to 
assist,  she  says,  at  the  demolition  of  the  structure  we  have  so  care- 
fully erected.  What  structure  ?  What  docs  she  mean  ?  Here  is 
the  letter." 

"  I  too,  dear,  have  had  a  letter  from  her.  She  says  that  at  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon  all  the  wrongful  and  injurious  suspicions 
will  be  cleared  away,  and  tliat  if  I  value  the  affection  of  my  son 
and  herself — the  affection  of  herself — I  must  be  present.     Hilda, 


340  THE    IVORY    GATE 

wliat  docs  this  mean?  I  am  very  much  troubled  about  the  letter. 
On  Saturday,  she  came  here  and  informed  mc  that  the  wcddini* 
would  be  iicld  on  Wcdnoday  just  as  if  nothini;  had  happened; 
and  she  foretold  that  we  should  all  be  present,  and  that  Athelslan 
would  give  iier  away — Athelstan.  It  is  a  very  disijuietinj^  letter, 
because,  my  dear,  do  you  think  we  couhi  all  of  us — could  we  pos- 
sibly be  wronjj,  have  been  wronj;  from  the  very  beginnintj,  in 
Athelstan's    case!      Could    Sir    Sanjuel    be    wrong    in    CJeorge's 

"  My  dear  mother,  it  is  impossible.  The  case,  unhaj>pily,  is  too 
clear  to  admit  of  any  doubt.  Sir  Samuel,  with  his  loni;  experience, 
could  not  be  wroni;." 

**Then,  Hilda  dear,  what  can  KIsie  mean?" 

"  \Vc  have  been  talking  about  it  all  through  breakfast.  The 
only  conclusion  wc  can  come  to  is  that  there  is  goirjg  to  be  a 
smothering  up  of  the  whole  busines-s.  Mr.  I)ering,  who  has  been 
terribly  put  out  with  the  case,  must  have  consented  to  smother 
up  the  matter.  Wc  think  that  the  papers  have  been  returned 
with  the  money  received  on  dividends  and  coupons,  and  that  Mr. 
leering  has  ai;ree<l  to  t;ike  no  further  proceedings.  Now,  if  ho 
would  do  that,  Athclstan,  of  course,  would  come  under  the  Act  of 
Indcnmity;  and  as  the  notes  were  never  used  by  him,  but  were 
returned  to  their  owner,  it  becomes  as  easy  to  recognize  his  inno- 
cence as  that  of  the  other  man.     Do  you  sec  ?" 

"Yes.     But  that  will  not  make  them  innocent." 

"Certainly  not.  Hut  it  makes  all  the  difTercncc  in  the  world. 
Oh  I  there  are  families  everywhere  who  have  had  to  smother  up 
tilings  in  order  to  escape  a  scandal.  Well,  I  hope  you  will  agree 
with  us,  and  accept  the  invitation." 

"  I  suppose  I  must.  But  how  about  removing  all  the  sus- 
picions f 

"  Oh  !  that  is  only  Elsie's  enthusiastic  way.  She  will  go  on,  if 
she  likes,  believing  that  George  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He 
will  have  every  inducement  to  live  honestly  for  the  future.  We 
can  easily  pretend  to  believe  that  Athelstan  was  always  innocent, 
and  we  can  persuade  him — at  least  I  hope  we  can  persuade  him — 
to  go  abroad.  Sir  Samuel  kindly  says  that  lie  will  advance  a  hun- 
dred pounds  in  order  to  get  rid  of  him.  Then  there  will  be  no 
scandal,  and  everybody  will  be  satisfied.  As  for  onr  relations 
with  Elsie  and  her  husband,  wc  can  arrange   them  afterwards. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  341 

Perhaps  they  will  agree  to  live  in  a  distant  suburb — say  Redbill, 
or  Chisleburst,  or  Walthamstow — so  that  there  may  be  a  good 
excuse  for  never  having  them  to  the  house.  Because — smother- 
ing or  no  smothering — I  can  no  longer  have  the  same  feelings 
towards  Elsie  as  before.  Her  obstinate  infatuation  for  that  man 
exasperates  me  only  to  think  of  it.  Nor  have  I  the  least  inten- 
tion of  being  on  intimate  relations  with  a  forger  who  has  only 
just  escaped  being  a  convict.  Sir  Samuel  entirely  agrees  with 
me." 

The  mother  sighed.  "  I  could  have  wished  that  we  were  mis- 
taken. Perhaps,  after  all,  there  may  be  something  that  Elsie  has 
found  out,  some  unexpected — " 

"  Say  a  miracle  at  once,  my  dear  mother.  It  is  just  as  likely 
to  happen." 

The  first  to  arrive  at  the  office  in  the  afternoon  was  Elsie  her- 
self, carrying  a  hand-bag. 

"  You  were  going  to  bring  your  brother,  Elsie,"  said  Mr.  Ber- 
ing. "  Where  is  he?  And  wliat  is  your  important  business  with 
me  ?  I  suppose  it  is  something  about  this  wretched  forgery,  which 
really  seems  destined  to  finish  me  off,  I  have  heard  of  nothing 
else — I  think  of  nothing  else — ever  since  it  happened." 

"First,  has  anything  new  been  discovered?" 

"  I  hardly  know,"  Mr.  Bering  replied  wearily.  "  They  seem  to 
have  found  the  man  Edmund  Gray;  but  Checkley  has  suddenly 
cooled.  Formerly,  he  clamored  perpetually  that  we  must  lose  no 
time  in  getting  a  warrant  for  his  arrest;  he  now  wants  to  put  it 
off  and  put  it  off.  He  was  going  on  very  strangely  this  morning. 
My  dear,  I  sometimes  think  that  my  old  clerk  is  off  his  head." 

"And  you  yourself — have  you  had  any  return  of  your  forget- 
fulness?" 

"  Worse — worse.  Every  day,  worse.  I  now  know  when  to 
look  for  a  return  of  these  fits.  Every  morning  I  ask  myself  what 
I  did  the  day  before.  Always  there  are  the  same  hours  of  forget- 
fulness — the  morning  and  the  evening.  Last  night,  where  was  I? 
Perhaps  somebody  will  find  out  for  me — for  I  cannot  remember." 

"Shall  I  find  out  for  you,  Mr.  Bering?  If  I  were  to  tell 
you  where  you  spent  the  evening  yesterday,  would  you — would 
you  ?— " 

"  W^hat?     IIow  can  you  find  out?" 


342  THE    IVORY    QATB 

Elsie  bent  her  head.  Tlie  moment  had  almost  arrived,  and  she 
was  afraid.  She  had  come  with  the  intention  of  clearini^  her 
brother  and  her  lover  at  the  cost  of  letting  her  guardian  know 
that  he  was  insane.  A  dreadful  price  to  pay  for  their  honor. 
But  it  had  to  be  paid.  And  it  must  be  done  in  the  sight  of  all, 
so  that  there  should  be  no  possible  margin  left  for  malignity  or 
suspicion. 

"This  business,"  she  said,  "concerns  the  honor  of  the  two  men 
who  arc  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world  beside.  Remember  that 
— nothing  short  of  that  would  make  me  do  what  I  have  been  do- 
ing— what  I  am  now  doing.  Their  honor — oh  !  their  honor. 
Tliink  what  it  means  to  them.  Self-respect,  dignity,  everything; 
the  happiness  of  their  homes;  the  pride  of  their  children.  Com- 
pared with  one  man's  honor,  what  matters  another  man's  humilia- 
tion ?  What  matters  the  loss  of  that  man's  self-respect?  What 
matters  his  loss  of  dignity  ?  Their  honor,  Mr.  Dering,  think  of 
that — their  honor !" 

He  bowed  his  head  gravely,  wondering  what  was  to  follow. 

"  A  man's  honor,  as  you  say,  Elsie,  is  the  greatest  thing  in  the 
world  to  him.  Compared  with  that,  another  man's  self-respect 
need  not,  I  should  say,  as  a  general  principle,  be  considered  at  all. 
Self-respect  may  be  regained  unless  honor  is  lost." 

"  Reiiicnibcr  that,  then,  Mr.  Dering,  when  you  hear  what  I  have 
to  say.  Promise  me  to  remember  that.  Oh!  if  there  were  a  thou- 
sand reasons,  formerly,  why  I  would  not  pain  you  by  a  single  word, 
there  are  ten  thousand  now — although  you  understand  them  not." 

"  Why,  Elsie,  you  are  troubling  your  little  head  about  trifles. 
You  will  not  offend  me,  whatever  you  say." 

"  It  is  so  important  a  thing,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  have  asked 
my  mother  and  sister  and  Sir  Samuel  to  meet  us  here  at  four 
o'clock,  in  order  that  they,  too,  may  hear  as  well  as  you.  Atliel- 
stan  is  with  George.  They  have  one  or  two  persons  to  introduce 
to  yon." 

"  All  this  seems  to  promise  a  meeting  of  some  interest,  and,  so 
far  as  one  may  judge  from  the  preamble,  of  more  than  common 
importance.  Well,  Elsie,  I  am  quite  in  your  hands.  If  you  and 
your  brother  between  you  will  kindly  produce  the  forger  and  give 
me  back  my  property,  I  shall  be  truly  grateful." 

"  You  shall  see,  Mr.  Dering.  But  as  for  the  gratitude —  Oh  ! 
here  is  Sir  Samuel." 


THE    IVORY    GATE  343 

Tlie  City  knight  appeared,  large  and  important.  He  shook 
hands  with  Elsie  and  his  brother,  and  took  up  his  position  on  the 
hearth-rug,  behind  his  brother's  chair.  "  Well,  Elsie,"  he  said, 
"  we  are  to  hear  something  very  important  indeed,  if  one  may 
judge  by  the  tone  of  your  letter,  which  was  imperative." 

"  Very  important  indeed.  Sir  Samuel." 

The  next  to  arrive  were  Mrs.  Arundel  and  Hilda.  They  wore 
thick  veils,  and  Hilda  was  dressed  in  a  kind  of  half-mourning. 
They  took  chairs  at  the  open  window,  between  the  historic  safe 
and  the  equally  historic  small  table.  Lastly,  George  and  Athclstan 
walked  in.     They  received  no  greetings. 

Mr,  Bering  rose.  "  Athelstan,"  he  said,  "  it  is  eight  years  since 
you  left  us."     He  held  out  liis  hand. 

"Presently,  Mr.  Dering,"  said  Athelstan.  He  looked  round 
the  room.  His  mother  trembled,  dropped  her  head,  and  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  but  said  nothing.  His  sister  looked  out 
of  the  window.  Sir  Samuel  took  no  notice  of  him  at  all.  Athelstan 
took  a  chair — the  clients'  chair — and  placed  it  so  as  to  have  his 
mother  and  sister  at  the  side.  He  wasn't  therefore  compelled  to 
look  at  them  across  the  table.  He  sat  down,  and  remained  in 
silence  and  motionless. 

The  court  was  now  complete.  Mr.  Dering  sat  in  his  chair  be- 
fore his  table,  expectant,  judicial.  Sir  Samuel  stood  behind  him. 
Mrs.  Arundel  and  Hilda,  the  two  ladies,  sat  at  the  open  window. 
Elsie  stood  opposite  to  Mr.  Bering,  on  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
her  hand-bag  before  her.  She  looked  like  counsel  about  to  open 
the  case  for  plaintiff.  Athclstan — or  plaintiff — naturally  occupied 
the  clients'  chair  on  Mr.  Bering's  left ;  and  George,  as  naturally 
— the  other  plaintiff — stood  behind  him. 

"  Now,  Elsie,  if  you  please,"  Mr.  Bering  began. 

"  I  shall  want  your  clerk,  Checkley,  to  be  present,  if  you 
please." 

Mr.  Bering  touched  his  bell.  The  clerk  appeared.  He  stood 
before  them  like  a  criminal,  pale  and  trembling.  He  looked  at 
his  master  appealingly.  His  hands  hung  beside  him.  Yet  not  a 
word  of  accusation  had  been  brought  against  him. 

"Lord!  man  alive!"  cried  Sir  Samuel,  "what  on  earth  has 
come  over  you  ?'' 

Checkley  shook  his  head  sadly,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two,  Checkley,"  said  Elsie 


344  THE    IVORY    GATE 

quietly.  "You  have  told  Mr.  Dering — you  Lave  told  Sir  Samuel 
— that  you  saw  my  brother  furtively  put  a  parcel — presumably  the 
stolen  notes — into  the  safe  at  the  very  nionient  when  you  were 
charging  him  with  forgery.  Now,  consider.  That  was  a  very 
serious  thing  to  say.  It  was  a  direct  statement  of  fact.  Before, 
the  charge  rested  on  suspicion  alone ;  but  this  is  fact.  Consider 
carefully.  You  may  have  been  mistaken.  Any  of  us  may  make 
a  mistake." 

"  It  was  true — Gospel  truth — I  sec  him  place  a  parcel — edging 
.ilong  sideways — in  the  safe.  The  parcel  we  found  afterwards  in 
the  safe  containing  all  the  notes."  The  words  were  confident, 
but  the  manner  was  iialting. 

"Very  well.  Next,  you  told  Sir  Samuel  that  my  biollier  had 
been  living  in  some  low  suburb  of  London  with  profligate  com- 
panions, and  that  he  had  been  even  going  about  in  rags  and  tat- 
ters." 

"Yes,  I  did.  I  told  Sir  Samuel  what  I  heard.  Mr.  Carstone 
told  me.     You'd  better  ask  him.     I  only  told  what  1  heard." 

George  went  out,  and  returned,  bringing  with  him  Mr.  Freddy 
Carstone.  He  looked  round  the  room,  and  stared  with  surprise  at 
Mr.  Dering,  but  said  nothing,  lie  had  been  warned  to  say  noth- 
ing, except  in  answer  to  questions. 

"Now,  Mr.  Carstone,"  Elsie  asked  him,  "how  long  is  it  since 
you  met  my  brother  after  his  return  to  England  ?" 

"About  three  weeks  ago  I  met  him.  It  was  in  Ilolborn.  I 
invited  him  into  the  Salutation  Tavern." 

"Did  you  tell  Mr.  Checkley  here  anything  about  his  way  of 
living?" 

"I  remember  saying,  foolishly,  that  he  looked  too  respectable 
to  have  come  from  America;  and  I  said  in  joke  that  1  believed 
he  had  been  in  Camberwell  all  the  time." 

"  Nothing  about  profligacy  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"Nothing  about  rags  and  tatters?" 

"Certainly  not.  In  fact,  1  knew  nothing  at  all  about  Athel- 
stan's  life  during  the  eight  years  that  he  has  been  away." 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say,  Checkley  ?  You  still  stick  to  the 
parcel  story,  do  you?  Very  well;  and  to  the  Camberwell  and 
profligacy  story  ?" 

Checkley  made  no  answer. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  345 

"Now,  then.  There  is  another  question.  You  made  a  great 
point  about  certain  imitations  of  Mr.  Dering's  writing  found  in  a 
drawer  of  Athelstan's  table  ?" 

"  Well,  they  were  there,  in  your  brother's  hand." 
"George,  you  have  something  to  say  on  this  point." 
"Only  this.  I  was  not  long  articled  at  that  time.  The  table 
was  taken  from  the  room  in  which  I  sat,  and  placed  here  for 
some  special  work.  Now,  the  imitations  of  Mr.  Dering's  hand- 
writing were  made  by  myself  and  another  clerk  in  joke.  I  re- 
member them  perfectly.  They  were  written  at  the  back  of  a 
letter  addressed  to  me." 

Mr.  Dering  went  to  the  safe,  and  produced  the  bundle  contain- 
ing all  the  papers  in  the  case.  He  unrolled  the  bundle,  and  placed 
the  contents  on  the  table. 

Everybody  was  now  serious.  Lady  Dering  looked  out  of 
the  window  no  longer.  Mrs.  Arundel  had  drawn  her  chair  to  the 
table. 

Elsie  picked  out  the  paper  containing  the  imitations.  "Tell 
me,"  she  said,  "if  you  remember — mind,  everybody,  this  bundle 
of  papers  has  never  been  shown  to  George — tell  me  the  name  of 
your  correspondent." 

"  It  was  Leonard  ITenryson." 

She  gave  the  paper  to  Mr.  Dering.     "  You  see,"  she  said. 
The  lawyer  gave  it  to  his  brother,  who  passed  it  on  to  his  wife, 
who  gave  it  to  her  mother.    Mrs.  Arundel  laid  it  on  the  table,  and 
raised  her  veil. 

"The  next  point,"  said  Elsie,  "is  about  Athelstan's  where- 
abouts during  the  last  eight  years.  One  letter  was  received  bv 
you,  Mr.  Dering,  four  years  ago.  You  have  already  shown  it  to 
me.  "Will  you  let  me  read  this  letter  aloud  for  all  to  hear  ?"  It 
was  in  the  bundle  with  the  stopped  notes.  lie  bowed  assent, 
and  she  read  it. 

"Twelve  thousand  pounds!''  cried  Sir  Samuel — "twelve  thou- 
sand pounds  !     All  he  had  !     Good  heavens  I" 

"  All  he  had  in  the  world,"  said  Elsie.  "  And  all  for  a  child 
who  refused  to  believe  that  her  brother  could  be  a  villain !  All 
he  had  in  the  world!"  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears — but  she  dashed 
them  aside,  and  went  on.  "  He  was  in  the  States  four  years  ao-o. 
That,  I  suppose,  will  no  longer  be  denied.  The  ne.\t  question  is 
— when  did  he  return  to  this  country  ?" 
15* 


340  THE    IVORY    GATE 

George  left  the  room  again,  and  returned  with  a  young  gentle- 
man. 

"  Til  is  gentleman,"  Elsie  continued,  "comes  from  Messrs. 
Clienery  <fc  Sons,  bankers,  of  New  York  and  London.  lie  baa 
brougbt  a  letter  witb  bim.  Will  you  kindly  let  me  sec  it,  sir? 
It  is,"  slie  explained,  "a  letter  of  credit  brougbt  over  by  my 
brolber  from  California.  You  see  tbe  date — June  20tb  of  this 
year." 

Mr.  Dering  read  it,  and  gave  it  to  bis  brotber,  wbo  gave  it  to 
his  wife  as  before. 

"  It  says  that  Mr.  Atbelstan  Arundel,  one  of  tbe  staff  of  a  cer- 
tain Californian  paper,  will  leave  New  York  on  June  tbe  21st  by 
tbe  Shamion,  and  that  be  is  authorized  to  draw  on  Messrs. 
Cbenery  ct  Sons  for  so  much.  Thank  you."  The  young  gentle- 
man retired. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Dering,  are  you  satisfied  that  Atbelstan  was  in 
America  four  years  ago ;  that  be  left  America  two  months  ago, 
and  that  be  was  then  on  the  staff  of  a  Californian  [)aper?" 

"There  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  these  facts.  Jjut" — he  put 
his  forefinger  on  the  check  payable  to  tbe  order  of  Edmund 
Gray — "arc  we  any  nearer  to  the  forger  of  this  check?" 

"  I  am  coming  to  that  presently.  I  am  going  to  show  you  all, 
so  that  there  shall  be  no  doubt  whatever,  who  is  the  forger — the 
one  band — in  tbe  business.     ^Vait  a  little." 

Strangely  enough,  every  eye  fell  upon  Checkley,  wbo  now 
trembled  and  shook  with  every  sign  of  terror. 

"  Sit  down,  Checkley,"  said  bis  master.  "  Elsie,  do  we  want 
this  gentleman  any  longer?  His  name  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of 
knowing." 

"  Ob !  come,"  said  Mr.  Carstone,  wbo  was  nearest.  "  You  know 
my  name,  surely." 

George  warned  bim  with  a  look,  and  be  subsided  into  si- 
lence. 

"  I  think  I  shall  want  you,  Mr.  Carstone,"  Elsie  replied,  *'  if  you 
will  kindly  take  a  chair  and  wait.  Now,  Sir  Samuel,  I  think  I  am 
right  in  saying  that  your  belief  in  tbe  guilt  of  George  rested 
entirely  on  tbe  supposed  complicity  of  Atbelstan.  That  gone, 
what  becomes  of  your  charge?  Also,  there  is  no  doubt,  I  believe, 
that  one  band,  and  one  band  alone,  has  committed  the  whole  long 
list  of  letters  and  forgeries.     If,  therefore,  Atbelstan  could  not 


THE    IVORY    GATE  347 

execute  the  second  business,  how  could  be  do  the  first?  But  I 
have  more  than  arguments  for  you." 

Sir  Samuel  coughed.     Mrs.  Arundel  sighed. 

"As  regards  tlic  charge  against  George,  apart  from  his  sup- 
posed intimacy  with  an  imaginary  criminal,  the  only  suspicious 
thing  is  that  he  may  have  had  access  to  the  open  safe.  Well, 
Checkley  also  may  have  had  access.  Don't  be  afraid,  Checkley — 
we  are  not  going  to  charge  you  with  the  thing  at  all.  You  are 
not  the  forger.  In  fact,  there  was  a  third  person  who  had  access 
to  the  safe." 

She  opened  her  hand-bag  and  took  out  a  packet  of  papers. 

Then  she  sat  down,  with  these  in  her  hand,  and,  leaning  over 
the  table,  she  looked  straight  and  full  into  Mr,  Bering's  eyes,  and 
began  to  talk  slowly  in  a  low  and  murmuring  voice.  And  now, 
indeed,  everybody  understood  that  something  very  serious  indeed 
was  going  to  be  said  and  done.  At  the  last  moment  a  way  had 
occurred  to  Elsie.  She  would  let  them  all  see  for  themselves 
what  had  happened,  and  she  would  spare  her  guardian  the  bit- 
ter shame  and  pain  of  being  exposed  in  the  presence  of  all 
this  company. 

"  Mr.  Dering,"  she  began,  "  you  have  strangely  forgotten  that 
you  know  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  IIow  could  you  come  to  forget 
that  ?  Why,  it  is  ten  years  at  least  since  you  made  his  acquaint- 
ance, lie  knows  you  very  well.  He  does  not  pretend  to  have 
forgotten  you.  You  are  bis  solicitor.  You  have  the  manage- 
ment of  bis  property — bis  large,  private  fortune — in  your  hands. 
You  are  his  most  intimate  friend.  It  is  not  well  to  forget 
old  friends,  is  it  ?  You  must  not  say  that  yon  forget  Edmund 
Gray." 

Mr.  Dering  changed  color.  His  eyes  expressed  bewilderment. 
He  made  no  reply. 

"  You  know  that  Edmund  Gray  leaves  this  room  every  evening 
on  his  way  to  Gray's  Inn  ;  you  remember  that.  And  that  be 
comes  here  every  morning,  but  not  till  eleven  or  twelve — two 
hours  after  the  time  that  you  yourself  used  to  come.  His  head 
is  always  so  full  of  his  thoughts  and  his  teaching  that  he  forgets 
the  time  between  twelve  and  four,  just  as  you  forget  the  evening 
and  the  morning.  You  are  both  so  much  absorbed  that  you 
cannot  remember  each  other." 

Mr.  Dering  sat  upright,  the  tips  of  bis  fingers  touching.     He 


848  THE    IVORV    QATB 

listened  at  first  cjravely — though  anxiously.  Presently  a  remark- 
able change  passed  over  his  face  ;  he  became  full  of  anxiety.  He 
listened  as  if  he  were  trying  to  remember — as  if  he  were  trying 
to  understand. 

"Edmund  Gray,"  he  said,  speaking  slowly.  "Yes,  I  re- 
member my  client  Edmund  Gray.  I  have  a  letter  to  write  for 
him.  What  is  it?  Excuse  me  a  nioinent;  I  must  write  that 
note  for  liiin,"  lie  took  pen  and  paper,  and  hastily  wrote  a  note, 
which  Elsie  took  from  him,  read,  and  gave  to  Sir  Samuel. 

"  You  want  to  tell  the  banker  that  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  has  re- 
turned you  the  transfers.  Yes — thank  you.  I  thought  y<ju  could 
not  forget  that  client,  of  all  others." 

lie  leaned  back  smiling — his  expression  no  longer  anxious,  but 
pleased  and  happy.  The  change  transformed  him.  lie  was  not 
Mr.  During,  but  another. 

"Go  on,  child." 

"  The  rooms  of  Gray's  Inn  are  quiet  all  day  long.  It  is  a 
peaceful  place  for  study,  is  it  not  ?  You  sit  there,  your  books 
before  you,  the  world  forgotten." 

"Quite  forgotten,"  said  Mr.  Dering. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Checkley,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  I  won't 
have  it  done.     I — " 

"  Sit  down."  George  pushed  him  back  into  his  chair.  "  An- 
other word,  and  you  leave  the  room." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

LB    C0N8EIL    DE    FAMILLE — {Continued) 

"It  is  a  peaceful  day,"  Elsie  continued,  "  that  you  pass — for 
the  most  part  alone — you  with  your  books.  Sometimes  you  come 
here  to  call  upon  your  old  friend  and  solicitor,  Mr.  Dering." 

"  Sometimes,"  he  replied.  "  We  are  very  old  friends.  Though 
his  views  are  narrow.  Where  is  he?"  He  looked  about  the 
room.  "  You  are  all  waiting  to  see  him  ?  lie  will  be  iiere  direct- 
ly.    He  is  always  here  about  this  time." 

"  Yes,  directly.     You  remember  what  I  said  to  you  on  Sunday 


THE    IVORY    GATE  349 

concerning  certain  transactions?  I  told  you  liow  important  it 
was  to  have  the  exact  truth  about  them." 

"Certainly.  I  remember.  I  wrote  an  account  of  them  for 
you." 

"You  did.     Arc  these  papers  what  you  wrote?" 

He  looked  at  them  for  a  moment.  "  These  are  my  papers," 
he  said.  "  They  are  what  I  wrote  at  your  request.  They  contain 
a  perfectly  true  account  of  what  happened." 

"  Now,  before  I  go  on,  you  will  not  mind — these  people  here 
do  not  know  Mr.  Edmund  Gray — you  will  not  mind  my  asking  a 
few  persons  to  testify  that  you  are  really  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  ask  all  the  world  if  you  wish ;  though  I  do 
not  understand  why  my  identity  should  be  doubted." 

"  Not  quite  all  the  world.  Mr.  Carstone,  will  you  tell  us  the 
name  of  this  gentleman  ?" 

"He  is  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  my  neighbor  at  No.  22  South 
Square,  Gray's  Inn." 

Mr.  Edmund  Gray  inclined  his  head,  and  smiled. 

George  went  outside,  and  returned,  followed  by  a  small  com- 
pany, who,  in  answer  to  Elsie,  stepped  forward,  one  after  the  other, 
and  made  answer. 

Said  one:  "I  am  the  landlord  of  the  rooms,  at  22  South 
Square,  tenanted  by  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  He  has  held  the  rooms 
for  ten  years.     This  gentleman  is  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  my  tenant." 

Said  another :  "  I  am  a  barrister,  and  the  tenant  of  the  rooms 
above  those  held  by  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  I  have  known  him — 
more  or  less — for  ten  years.  This  gentleman  is  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray." 

Said  a  third  :  "  I  am  a  commissionnaire.  I  remember  this  gen- 
tleman very  well,  though  it  is  eiglit  years  since  he  employed  me, 
and  only  for  one  job  then.  I  went  from  a  hotel  in  Norfolk 
Street,  Strand,  to  a  bank  with  a  check  which  I  was  to  cash  for 
him  in  ten-pound  notes.     He  gave  me  half  a  sovereign." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  "  I  remember  you,  too.  It 
was  a  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  the  particu- 
lars of  which  you  have  in  my  statement,  Elsie.  I  well  remember 
this  one-armed  commissionnaire." 

And  a  fourth  :  "  I  am  the  laundress  who  does  for  Mr.  Edmund 
Gray.  I  have  done  for  him  for  ten  years.  This  gentleman  is 
Mr.  Edmund  Gray." 


350  THE    IVOUT    OATK 

And  a  fifth  :  "  I  am  a  news-agent,  and  I  have  a  shop  at  the 
entrance  of  Gray's  Inn.  This  rrentleman  is  Mr.  Edmund  Gray, 
of  22  South  Square.  I  have  known  him  iu  tlie  inn  for  ten 
years." 

To  each  in  turn  Mr.  Derinc;  nocUled,  witli  a  kindly  smile. 

"  Athclstan,"  said  Elsie,  "will  you  tell  us  when  and  where  you 
have  met  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  ?" 

"  I  met  him  last  week  in  Carstone's  rooms  on  the  same  landing. 
He  sat  with  us  for  an  liour  or  more." 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  said  Mr.  Dering,  "  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  Mr.  Arundel  on  tliat  occasion." 

"  I  also  saw  him,"  Athclstan  continued,  '*  at  a  small  lecture-hall 
at  Kentish  Town  on  Sunday  evening — yesterday." 

"  To  complete  the  evidence,"  said  Elsie,  *'  I  have  myself  spent 
many  hours  almost  daily  with  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  during  the  last 
fortnight  or  so.     Is  not  tliat  true,  dear  master?"' 

"  Quite  true,  my  scholar." 

"Brother — brother" — Sir  Samuel  touched  his  arm — "I  im- 
plore you — rouse  yourself.     Shake  off  this  fancy." 

"  Let  him  alone,  Sir  Samuel,"  said  George — "  let  him  alone. 
Vie  have  not  done  with  him  yet." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Mr.s.  Arundel,  who  had  now  left  her  seat  and  was 
leaning  over  the  table,  following  what  was  said  with  breathless  in- 
terest— "let  us  finish  out  this  comedy  or  tragedy — as  the  case 
may  be.     Let  no  one  interrupt." 

"  I  have  also  met  you,  sir" — Mr.  Dering  addressed  Checkley, 
who  only  groaned  and  shook.  "  It  was  outside  a  tavern.  Yon 
took  me  in,  and  offered  n)c  a  drink." 

Checkley  shook  his  head,  either  in  sadness  or  in  denial,  but 
replied  not — and  at  the  thought  of  offering  Mr.  Dering  a  drink 
everybody  laughed,  which  was  a  relief. 

"  Dear  master,"  Elsie  went  on,  in  her  soft  voice,  "  I  am  so  glad 
that  you  remember  all  these  things.  It  makes  one's  task  so  much 
easier.  Why,  your  memory  is  as  strong  as  ever,  in  spite  of  all 
your  work.  Now,  I  am  going  to  read  the  two  statements  you 
wrote  down  yesterday  afternoon.  Then  you  may  recall  anything 
else  you  might  like  to  add.  Remember  that  as  regards  this  first 
affair,  the  check  for  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  ray  broth- 
er was  charged,  on  suspicion  only,  with  having  forged  it.  Now 
listen."     She  read  the  brief  statement  which  you  have  already 


THE    IVORY    GATE  351 

seen,  concerning  the  business  of  the  first  check.  "  That  is  your 
history  of  the  affair?" 

"  Quite  so.  Dering  drew  the  check  at  my  request.  I  cashed 
it.  I  found  tliat  I  had  no  need  of  the  notes,  and  I  returned  them. 
That  is  very  simple." 

"  It  is  all  so  simple  that  nobody  ever  gnessed  it  before.  Now 
wc  corae  to  the  transfers  made  in  the  spring  of  the  present  year. 
You  wrote  a  second  statement  regarding  them.  I  will  read  that 
as  well.     Please  listen  very  carefully." 

She  read  the  other  statement,  which  you  have  also  seen  al- 
ready. She  read  it  very  slowly,  so  that  there  should  be  no  mis- 
take possible.  During  the  reading  of  these  documents  Sir  Sam- 
uel's face  expressed  every  possible  shade  of  surprise.  Mrs.  Arun- 
del, leaning  over  the  table,  followed  every  lino.  Hilda  wept — her 
head  gracefully  inclined  over  her  pocket-handkerchief,  as  if  it  were 
an  urn. 

"  This  is  your  account  of  the  business  ?" 

"  Certainly.  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  added.  It  is  a  plain 
statement  of  the  facts.  I  do  not  understand  how  they  could  be 
in  any  way  doubted  or  misrepresented." 

"  Would  you,  Sir  Samuel,  like  to  ask  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  any 
question?" 

"  I  don't  understand.  He  says  that  Mr.  Dering  wrote  a  letter 
for  him." 

Elsie  showed  him  the  letter  they  had  seen  Mr.  Dering  write, 
while  he  was  passing  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Where  are  the  transfers  ?"  Sir  Samuel  went  on.  "  He  says 
they  were  placed  by  himself  in  the  safe." 

Mr.  Edmund  Gray  rose  and  walked  to  the  safe.  He  laid  liis 
hands  upon  a  packet  and  took  it  out.  "  These  are  the  papers," 
he  said. 

Sir  Samuel  opened  the  roll  and  looked  them  over.  "They 
seem  all  right,"  he  said.     "  This  is  very  wonderful." 

"  Wonderful  —  and  sad  —  most  lamentable,"  whispered  Lady 
Dering. 

"  Wonderful  indeed  !"  Mrs.  Arundel  echoed.  "  Most  wonder- 
ful !  most  unexpected !" 

"A  moment  more,  and  I  have  done."  Elsie  again  took  up  the 
tale.  "  Here  is  a  check  to  the  order  of  Mr.  Dering,  signed  by  Mr. 
Edmund  Gray  for  the  whole  of  the  money  lying  in  his  name  at 


352  TUE    IVORV    UATE 

the  bank.  You  agree,  master,  that  it  is  best  for  the  future  that 
all  your  affairs  should  be  in  the  hands  of  your  solicitor?" 

"  I  quite  agree." 

"  Here  is  a  letter  to  the  manager  of  the  bank,  requesting  liim 
to  pay  over  Edmund  (Jray's  dividends  to  the  account  of  Mr.  Der- 
ing.  And  now  I  think  I  liavc  proved  my  case.  Here  in  the 
.'^afe  wore  the  ton-pound  notes  received  by  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  and 
j»Iaced  there  by  him.  Here  were  the  transfers  and  certiticates 
placed  there  by  him.  You  have  heard  half  a  dozen  people  testify 
to  the  fact  that  you  have  Edmund  Gray  before  you.  His  state- 
ment of  the  business  has  been  read  to  you.  It  shows,  what  no 
other  theory  of  the  case  couKl  show,  how  the  thing  was  really 
done.  Ljistly,  it  shows  the  absolute  and  complete  innocence  of 
my  brother  and  of  George.  Have  you  anything  more  to  say,  Sir 
Sanniol  ?" 

"  Nothing — except  that  I  was  misled  by  a  statement  concern- 
ing a  profligate  life  among  low  companions,  without  which  no 
suspicion  could  have  fallen  upon  cither  of  you  gentlemen.  It 
was" — he  pointed  to  the  unhappy  Checkley — "a  vile  and  malig- 
nant falsehood.  Do  you  hear,  sir?  Vile  and  malignant.  It  only 
remains  for  us  all  to  make  such  reparation  as  wc  may — nothing 
would  suflioc,  I  know,  but  such  reparation  as  we  can — by  the  ex- 
pression of  the  shame  and  regret  that  wc  all  feel." 

"  Athclstan,"  said  his  mother,  "  what  can  I  say  ?  Oh  !  what  can 
I  say  ?" 

Athelstan  rose — during  the  long  business  he  had  sat  motion- 
less in  the  clients'  chair,  his  head  in  his  hand.  Now  he  rose  and 
stojtped  over  to  his  mother.  "  Hush  !"  he  said.  "Not  a  word. 
It  is  all  forgotten — all  forgiven." 

But  Hilda  sank  upon  her  knees  and  caught  his  hands. 

"George,"  said  Sir  Samuel,  "forgive  me.  The  case  looked 
black  against  you  at  one  time.  It  did  indeed.  Forgive  me." 
He  held  out  his  hand. 

Then  there  was  great  hand-shaking,  embracing,  and  many  tears. 
As  for  Checkley,  he  crept  out  and  vanished  in  the  retreat  of  his 
own  room.  "It  is  all  over,"  lie  murmured — "all  over.  I've 
lost  four  hundred  pounds  a  year.  That's  gone.  All  over — all 
over  I" 

Mr.  Edmund  Gray  looked  on  this  liappy  scene  of  family  recon- 
ciliation with  benevolence  and  smiles. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  353 

Family  reconciliations  must  not  be  prolonged ;  you  cannot  sit 
over  a  family  reconciliation  as  over  a  bottle  of  port.  It  must  be 
quickly  despatched.  Sir  Samuel  whispered  to  Hilda  that  they 
had  better  go. 

"  Come,"  said  Lady  Bering.  "  We  will  all  meet  again  this 
evening  at  Pembridge  Square — and  to-morrow  evening — and  on 
Wednesday  afternoon.  Elsie,  you  are  a  witch  and  a  sorceress  and 
a  wise  woman.  You  said  that  Athelstan  should  give  you  away, 
and  he  will.  Brother,  come  with  us.  Leave  Elsie  to  George. 
Oh !  how  handsome  you  are  looking,  my  poor,  ill-used  brother. 
Try  to  forgive  us  if  you  can." 

She  turned  to  Mr.  Edmund  Gray.  "  Sir,"  she  said,  "  we  ought 
to  be  very  grateful  to  you — indeed,  we  are — for  enabling  us  to 
clear  away  the  odious  cloud  of  suspicion  which  had  rolled  over 
our  heads.  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  draw  out  those  state- 
ments for  my  sister.  But  I  do  think  that  if  Mr.  Dering  had  told 
his  old  friends  about  you — about  Mr.  Edmund  Gray — we  should 
have  been  spared  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  unnecessary  shame. 
Good-day,  sir." 

Sir  Samuel  lingered  a  moment,  lie  looked  as  if  he  would  ap- 
peal to  Mr.  Edmund  Gray  as  to  a  brother.  "  Don't  speak  to 
him,"  Elsie  whispered.  "Let  him  alone,  lie  will  become  him- 
self again  presently.     Let  hira  alone." 

So  he  went  out,  and  the  door  was  shut,  and  Edmund  Gray  was 
left  alone  with  George  and  the  scholar. 

"My  master" — Elsie  sat  down  beside  him — "I  fear  you  have 
been  interrupted.  But  indeed  it  was  necessary.  Don't  ask  why. 
Things  get  into  a  muddle  sometimes,  don't  they  ?  You  have  gath- 
ered something  of  the  trouble,  too.  Now  that  is  all  over — past 
and  gone." 

"I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  child." 

"Master — dear  master — I  have  a  confession  to  make.  When  I 
found  out  wlio  you  were — ■!  mean  what  manner  of  man  you  were 
— my  only  thought  at  first  was  to  coax  you  and  wheedle  you  and 
flatter  you  till  you  gave  me  exactly  the  information  that  I  want- 
ed. I  confess  it.  That  was  my  only  purpose.  Nay — more — 
for  the  sake  of  my  lover  and  my  brother  I  would  do  it  again. 
W^ell — I  found  that  the  only  way  to  win  your  confidence  was  to 
pretend  to  be  your  scholar  and  to  believe  all  you  taught.  So  I 
pretended.    So  I  won  your  confidence.    So  I  obtained  all  I  wanted. 


354  THE    IVOKT    GATE 

So  I  have  made  it  impossible  for  even  the  most  malij^nant  creat- 
ure in  the  world  to  pretend  that  these  two  men  had  anything 
to  do  with  what  they  called  a  forijery.  But — believe  me,  dear 
master — while  I  pretended,  I  was  punished,  because  my  pretence 
is  turned  to  certainty." 

"  Child,  I  knew  it.  You  could  not  pretend — no  woman  could 
protend  so  as  to  deceive  me  on  a  jioint  so  siiniile." 

"  Dear  master,  you  do  not  know  the  possibilities  of  feminine 
craft.  But  I  pretend  no  more.  Oh  !  I  care  not  how  you  make 
your  attempt,  whether  you  destroy  property  or  not.  Mr.  Dering 
says  that  property  is  civilization — but  I  don't  care.  To  me  it  is 
cnouujh  to  dream — to  know — that  there  is  an  earthly  paradise 
possible,  if  only  men  will  think  so  and  will  keep  it  before  their 
eyes,  thou^fh  it  bo  as  far  off  as  the  blue  hills.  It  is  beautiful  only 
to  think  of  it;  the  soul  is  lifted  up  only  to  think  that  there  is 
such  a  place.  Keep  the  eyes  of  your  people  on  this  j^lorious  place, 
dear  master ;  make  it  impossible  for  them  to  forget  it  or  to  let  it 
go  out  of  their  sight.  Then,  half  unconsciously,  they  will  be  run- 
ning, dragging  each  other,  forcing  each  other — exhorting  each 
other  to  hurry  along  the  dusty  road  which  leads  to  that  earthly 
paradise  with  its  four-square  city  of  the  jasper  wall.  Preach 
about  it,  master.  Write  about  it.  Make  all  men  talk  about  it 
and  think  about  it." 

She  threw  her  arras  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

"Master,  we  shall  be  away  for  a  month  or  two.  Then  we  shall 
come  back,  and  I  shall  sit  at  your  feet  again.  You  shall  come 
and  stay  with  us.  We  will  give  you  love,  and  you  shall  give  us 
hope.     I  have  made  my  confession.     Forgive  me." 

They  left  him  sitting  alone.  Presently  he  arose,  put  all  the 
papers  back  in  the  safe,  and  walked  slowly  away — to  Gray's  Inn. 

Next  morning  when  he  opened  his  letters  he  found  one  marked 
"  Private."     It  was  from  Sir  Samuel. 

"  Dear  Edward,"  it  said — "  Wc  arc  all  very  glad  to  tell  you  that  the 
business  of  the  shares  and  certificates  is  now  completely  cleared  up.  Check- 
ley  is  not  in  any  way  concerned  in  it — nor  is  George  Austin.  And  I  am 
happy  to  say  there  is  a  complete  solution  of  the  former  mjstery,  which  en- 
tirely clears  Hilda's  brother.  Under  these  circumstances,  we  are  agreed  that 
it  is  best  for  you  not  to  trouble  yourself  about  any  further  investigations. 
You  will  find  in  the  safe  the  transfers,  a  check  to  yourself  of  all  the  money 
received  by  Edmund  Gray,  and  an  order  in  the  bank  concerning  tlie  divi- 
dends.    You  have  been  the  victim  of  a  very  remarkable  halluciuation.     I 


THE    IVORY    GATE  355 

need  not  explain  further.  Mr.  Edmund  Gray,  however,  is  undoubtedly  insane. 
I  hear,  and  have  myself  observed,  that  you  have  been  greatly  disturbed  and 
distressed  by  these  mysterious  events.  Now  that  they  are  settled  finally — I 
may  say  that  only  a  happy  chance  set  us  on  the  right  track — we  all  hope 
that  you  will  be  satisfied  with  our  assurance,  and  that  you  will  not  trouble 
yourself  any  more  in  the  matter. 

"  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"  Samuel  Dering." 


Mr.  Dering,  after  reading  this  letter,  got  np  and  looked  in  the 
safe,  where  ho  found  the  papers  referred  to.  He  rang  the  bell. 
"  Checkley,  who  has  been  at  my  safe  ?" 

"Nobody  but  you." 

"Don't  tell  lies.     Who  put  those  papers  in  the  safe?" 

"  They  must  have  been  put  there  yesterday — you  were  in  the 
room," 

"  Yesterday — what  happened  yesterday  ?" 

Checkley  was  silent. 

"  Who  was  here  yesterday  ?  Go  on,  Checkley.  Don't  be 
afraid." 

"  Sir  Samuel  was  here — and  Lady  Dering — and  Mrs.  Arundel 
— and  Miss  Elsie — and  your  partner — and  Mr.  Athelstan.  Two 
or  three  more  came  iti  and  went  away." 

"That  will  do.  You  need  tell  me  no  more.  I  don't  want  to 
know  the  particulars.  Checkley,  my  day's  work  is  done.  I  have 
thought  so  for  some  time  past.  Now  I  am  certain,  I  shall  re- 
tire." 

"  No,  no !"  cried  Checkley,  the  tears  running  down  his  face. 
"  Not  to  retire — after  all  these  years — not  to  retire." 

"I  know  now  the  meaning  of  my  fits  of  forgetfulness.  I  have 
feared  and  suspected  it  for  a  long  time.  While  I  am  lost  to  my- 
self, I  am  going  about  the  world,  doing  I  know  not  what.  And 
I  will  not  ask.  I  may  be  this  Edmund  Gray,  who  preaches  So- 
cialism and  gives  me  his  precious  tracts.  I  may  be  some  one  else. 
I  say,  Checkley,  that  I  know  now  what  has  happened  to  me. 
Deny  it  if  you  can — if  you  can,  I  say." 

Checkley  did  not  offer  any  denial.  He  hung  his  head.  "This 
is  the  meaning  of  Elsie's  strange  hints  and  queer  protestations. 
Half  my  time  I  am  a  madman — a  madman.  Checkley,  ask  Mr. 
Austin  to  come  to  me  at  once.  My  day  is  done."  He  closed 
Lis  open  blotting-pad  and  placed  the  unopened  letters  beside  it. 


356  THE    IVORY    GATE 

Then  he  rose  and  pushed  back  liis  cliair — the  chair  in  whicli  lie 
had  sat  for  fifty  years  and  more.  **  My  day  is  done — my  day  is 
done." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE    LAST 


Mil  Derino  left  his  ofllco,  went  back  lo  Gray's  Tnn,  and  sat 
down  a:;aiii  before  the  Ivory  Gate.  Those  who  iiave  once  sat  for 
nn  liour  or  two  in  this  phice  return  to  it  a<^ain  and  aL,'ain,  and 
never  leave  it.  It  is,  to  begin  with,  the  most  beautiful  gate  ever 
erected.  The  brain  and  wit  and  fancy  of  man  could  never  con- 
ceive such  a  pate,  could  never  execute  such  a  conception.  It  is 
all  of  pure  ivory,  carved  with  flowers  such  as  never  grew  ;  curving 
and  flowing  lines  leading  nowhere;  figures  of  maidens  lovely  be- 
yond all  dreams ;  philosophers  whose  wisdom  reaches  unto  the 
heavens;  statesmen  who  discern  the  gathering  forces  and  control 
the  destinies  of  a  nation;  inventors  who  conquer  nature;  physi- 
cians who  prolong  life;  ecclesiastics  who  convert  the  Carthusian 
cell  into  a  bower  of  dcliglit;  poets  who  here  find  their  fantasies 
divine;  men  and  women  in  work-a-day  dress  who  wear  the  faces 
of  the  heavenly  host. 

All  the  dreamers  lie  here,  not  asleep,  but  dreaming.  Their  eyes 
are  open,  but  they  do  not  see  each  other;  they  see  these  dreams. 
Those  of  the  young  who  are  also  generous  come  here  and  dream 
until  they  grow  older  and  arc  chained  to  their  work  and  can  dream 
no  more.  Men  of  all  conditions  come  here — even  the  little  shop- 
boy — even  the  maiden  who  cleans  the  knives  and  polishes  the 
boots — all  are  here.  The  young  prince  is  here;  the  little  charity 
boy  is  here ;  the  lad  whose  loftiest  ambition  is  that  he  may  one 
day  stand  in  the  pulpit  of  the  little  Baptist  viliagc-chapel  is  here; 
here  is  the  undergraduate  who  was  captain  of  Eton  and  will  be 
senior  classic  and  Member  of  Parliament  and  minister  —  even 
prime-minister — and  will  belong  to  history.  The  poet  is  here, 
and  the  painter,  and  sometimes  hither  comes  the  novelist,  and, 
but  more  rarely,  the  dramatist.  Hither  comes  the  musician  to  lift 
up  his  soul  with  thoughts  that  only  music  can  give ;  and  the  singer. 


THE    IVORY    GATE  357 

SO  that  he  sini^s  more  than  is  apparent  from  the  words ;  and  the 
actor,  so  that  he  puts  things  into  the  play  never  dreamed  by  him 
who  wrote  it.  Great  is  the  power,  great  the  gifts,  of  tliis  noble 
Gate  of  Ivory. 

Sitting  before  that  gate,  such  a  dreamer  as  Edmund  Gray  re- 
ceives strange  visions.  He  sees  clearly  and  near  at  hand  the  things 
which  might  be,  yet  are  not,  and  never  can  be  until  man  lays  down 
his  garb  of  selfishness  and  puts  on  the  white  robes  of  Charity, 
To  that  dreamer  tlie  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  which  seems  to  some  so 
far  off  and  to  others  impossible,  so  that  they  deride  the  name  of 
it,  is  actually  close  at  hand — with  us — easy  to  enter  if  we  only 
choose.  He  exhorts  his  fellows  to  enter  with  him.  And  they 
would  follow,  but  they  cannot,  because  they  are  held  back  by  cus- 
tom and  necessity.  They  must  obey  the  laws  of  the  multitude, 
and  so  they  stay  where  they  are.  And  when  the  dreamer  passes 
away  his  memory  is  quickly  lost,  and  the  brightness  quickly  leaves 
those  dimly  lighted  lives.  Yet  other  dreamers  come — every  day 
there  arises  an  Edmund  Gray. 

Now  when  Edmund  Gray  takes  the  place  of  Edward  Bering,  in 
which  guise  does  the  soul,  in  the  end,  leave  the  earth  ?  Are  the 
dreams  of  Edmund  Gray  perhaps  the  logical  development  of  the 
doctrines  held  by  Edward  Bering  ?  Is  the  present  stage  of  indi- 
vidual property — where  every  man  works  for  himself  and  his 
household — one  through  which  the  world  must  pass  before  it  can 
reach  the  higher  level  of  working  each  for  all  ?  First  men  and 
women  hunt,  separate ;  they  live  apart  in  hollow  trees  and  caves. 
Then  they  live  together,  and  the  man  hunts  for  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Next,  they  live  in  communities,  which  grow  into  towns  and 
tribes  and  nations.  Then  men  rely  upon  the  protection  of  the 
law,  and  work  for  themselves  again.  That  is  our  present  stage; 
it  has  lasted  long — very  long.  Perhaps  it  will  break  up  some 
day;  perhaps  sooner  than  we  think.  Who  knows?  All  things 
are  possible — even  the  crash  and  wreck  of  a  civilization  which  has 
taken  thousands  of  years  to  build  up.  And  upon  it  may  come — 
one  knows  not — that  other  stage  which  now  belongs  to  the  dreamer 
before  the  Ivory  Gate. 

The  wedding  was  held  then,  as  Elsie  said  it  should  be,  shorn 
of  none  of  its  splendors,  and  relieved  of  the  cloud  which  had  hung 
over  them  so  long  and  threatened  them  so  gloomily.     xUhelstan 


358  THE    IVORY    GATE 

the  Exile — Atliclstan  the  Ne'er-do-well — Atliclstan  the  Profligate 
— Atliclstan  the  licsident  of  Cambcrwcll — Atliclstan  the  Smirched 
and  Soiled — stood  beside  the  altar,  tall  and  gallant,  and  gave  away 
the  bride  for  all  the  world  to  see — nobody  in  the  least  ashamed 
of  him.  There  was  not  any  breath  of  scandal  left.  Here  he  was, 
returned  from  his  travels,  a  tall  and  proper  man,  dressed  in  broad- 
cloth, perhaps  with  money  in  purse,  prosperous  and  successful  in 
the  sight  of  all.  His  mother  gazed  upon  him  when  she  should 
have  been  looking  at  the  bride  or  into  her  Prayer  Book,  llcr 
eyes  were  red,  but  tlien  a  mother  is  allowed  a  tear  or  two  when 
her  daughter  leaves  the  nest.  And  as  to  those  who  had  whispered 
words  about  family  jars,  quarrels,  and  estrangements,  or  had  spo- 
ken against  the  fair  fame  of  the  groom,  they  were  now  as  mute 
as  mice. 

All  the  richer  members  of  the  House  of  Arundel — the  City 
Arundels — were  present.  One  of  them — chief  [)artncr  in  a  lead- 
ing firm  of  accountants — afterwards  computed,  for  tlie  greater  in- 
crease of  the  family  glory,  how  many  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
pounds  were  gathered  together  at  one  moment  beneath  that  sa- 
cred roof.  He  counted  the  members,  and  made  that  little  addi- 
tion, during  the  performance  of  the  ceremony.  Those  of  the  Aus- 
tins who  were  not  disgracefully  poor — there  are  some  branches  of 
the  family,  I  believe,  pretty  low  down — were  also  present.  And 
the  company  went  to  Pembridgc  Square  after  the  service,  gazed 
admiringly  at  the  wedding-presents,  and  drank  the  health  of  the 
bride  and  bridegroom,  and  gathered  with  cousinly  curiosity  round 
the  returned  prodigal.  But  tlicy  knew  nothing — mind  you — of 
his  connection  with  Cambcrwcll.  And  nothing  about  his  supposed 
complicity  in  the  Edmund  Gray  business.  There  had  been,  hap- 
pily, no  scandal. 

Among  the  company  in  the  church  was  Mr.  Dcring.  He  stood 
tall  and  erect,  his  coat  buttoned,  his  face  keen  and  hard,  the  fam- 
ily lawyer  stamped  by  nature  and  long  custom. 

Presently,  when  the  service  was  about  half-way  through,  a 
change  came  over  him.  His  face  relaxed  ;  the  lines  curved  just  a 
little  laterally,  the  austerity  vanished,  his  eyes  brightened.  He 
took  off  his  gloves  furtively,  and  opened  his  coat.  He  was  Ed- 
mund Gray.  In  that  capacity  he  afterwards  drank  to  the  bride, 
and  wished  her  happiness.  And  he  walked  all  the  way  from  Pcm- 
bridge  Square  to  South  Square,  Gray's  Inn. 


THE    IVOKY    GATE  359 

I  see  in  the  future  an  old  man  growing  feeble ;  he  leans  upon 
the  arm  of  a  girl  whom  he  calls  his  scholar,  his  disciple,  and  his 
child,  llis  face  is  serene  ;  he  is  perfectly  happy  ;  the  advent  of 
that  kingdom  whose  glories  he  preaches  is  very  nigh  at  hand. 
He  lives  in  the  house  of  his  disciple ;  he  has  forgotten  the  very 
existence  of  his  lawyer;  he  goes  no  more  to  Lincoln's  Inn:  al- 
ways he  is  lying,  night  and  day,  before  that  miracle  of  carven  work 
in  ivory.  There  he  watches — it  is  his  vision — the  long  proces- 
sion of  those  who  work,  and  sing  at  their  work,  and  arc  happy, 
work  they  ever  so  hard,  because  they  work  each  for  all  and  all  for 
each.  And  there  is  no  more  sorrow  or  crying  and  no  more  pain. 
What  hath  the  Gate  of  Horn — through  which  is  allowed  nothing 
but  what  is  true — bitterly  true — absolutely  true — nakedly,  coldly, 
shiveringly  true — to  sliow  in  comparison  with  this?  A  crowd 
trampling  upon  each  other;  men  who  enslave  and  rob  each  other; 
men  and  women  and  children  lying  in  misery ;  men  and  women 
and  children  starving.  Let  us  fly,  my  brothers — let  us  swiftly 
fly — let  us  hasten — to  the  Gate  of  Ivory. 


THE    END 


WALTER  BESANT'S   WORKS. 


We  give,  without  hesitation,  the  foremost  place  to  Mr.  Besant,  wliose 
work,  always  so  admirable  and  spirited,  acquires  double  importance  from 
the  enthusiasm  with  which  it  is  inspired. — Blackwood^s  Magazine,  Edin- 
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Mr.  Besant  wields  the  wand  of  a  wizard,  let  him  wave  it  in  whatever 
direction  he  will.  ,  .  .  The  spell  that  dwells  in  this  wand  is  formed  by  in- 
tense earnestness  and  vivid  imagination. — Spectator,  London. 

There  is  a  bluff,  honest,  hearty,  and  homely  method  about  Mr.  Besant's 
stories  which  makes  them  acceptable,  and  because  he  is  so  easily  under- 
stood is  another  reason  why  he  is  so  particularly  relished  by  the  English 
public. — N.  Y.  Times. 


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Di'lightfiil  touches  justify  those  who  see  many  points  of  analogy 
between  Miss  Woolson  ami  Gcoipe  Ehol. — N.  Y.  Times. 

For  tenderness  and  purity  of  thouplit,  for  exquisitely  delicate 
sketching  of  characters,  Miss  Woolson  is  unexcelled  among  writers 
of  fictioa — Atvr  OrUann  IHcayuru:. 

Characterization  is  Miss  Woolson's  forte.  Ilcr  men  and  women 
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Constance  Fcnimore  Woolson  may  easily  become  the  novelist 
laureate  — Boston  Globe. 

]\Iiss  Woolson  lias  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style., 
and  conspicuous  dramatic  power;  while  her  skill  iu  the  develop- 
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Miss  Woolson  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly  loaded  vein  which,  so  far,  is 
all  her  own  ;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh 
sensation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleas- 
ant task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have 
fallen  to  lier  in  very  pleasant  places  ;  or  she  lias,  perhaps,  within 
herself  the  wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so 
freely  into  all  she  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  mucli  to  elevate 
the  moral  tone  of  the  day — a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the 
time. —  WhitefuiU  Review,  London. 


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R  D.  BLACKMORE'S  NOVELS. 


His  descriptions  are  wonderfully  vivid  and  natural.  Ilis  pages  are 
brightened  everj-where  with  great  humor  ;  the  quaint,  dry  turns  of  thought 
remind  you  occasionally  of  Fielding. — London  Times. 

Mr.  Blackmore  always  writes  like  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman — Athe- 
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their  sprightly  vivacity  and  their  naturalness,  they  never  in  the  slightest 
degree  transcend  the  limits  of  delicacy  or  good  taste.  While  radiating 
warmth  and  brightness,  they  are  as  pure  as  the  new-fa'len  snow. . . .  Their 
literary  execution  is  admirable,  and  their  dramatic  power  is  as  exceptional 
as  their  moral  purity. —  Christian  InttUigcnca\  N.  Y. 


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Date  due 


FORM    33S    40M     9-42 


u 


^''y 


823. S9  B554 


463089 


